The Uprising
by Captain Cranium
Summary: All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance. COMPLETE!
1. Daphne Greengrass

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 1: Meet Daphne Greengrass **

The Liberals had won. There was no doubt about it, reflected Daphne Greengrass as she took a whiff of her morning tea and unrolled her Daily Prophet. The Prophet's headline screamed about yet another bill the Liberals had rammed down the Wizengamot's throat - this time restricting the laxity Pureblood families had typically enjoyed in teaching their underage children magic within their homes. A scant few years ago, such a bill would never have even been tabled, let along actually passed, she mused.

In Daphne's mind, the Dark Lord was responsible for the Traditionalists' current predicament. Yes, they had had a few good years when the Dark Lord had been ascending, but then Dumbledore's forces had staged a remarkable comeback. A bloody battle was fought, and many noble families were extinguished - a large number of which had once upon a time formed the bulwark of the Traditionalist agenda. The Notts, the Parkinsons, the Haileys, the Greevers, the Goyles - they were all gone.

And the Greengrasses too, she sighed. The Greengrasses were gone too. Their father had died on the night of the battle - not at the battle itself, but from a surprise case of dragon pox. Dragon pox was nearly always deadly when it hit in adulthood. With only Daphne and Astoria to survive him - their mother had died giving birth to Astoria - there were no males to carry on the Greengrass line.

She shuddered and shook her head to distract herself from memories she had no wish to think of. Her father's loss still cut deeply - in part due to the love and regard she held for him, but also in part due to what had happened after he died.

Pureblood society held little regard for the status of women as heirs. After her father's death, the headship of House Greengrass was dissolved. Much of the family's political influence and interests were taken over by the more closely related Pureblood families. Their seat on the Wizengamot had been taken by the newly raised - and upstart, Daphne thought ferociously - Boot family. Why, they were barely four generations' worth of wizards! It was the Liberal influence in the Wizengamot again, she thought with a sigh.

Of course, this was going to have happened sooner or later, and their father's death just let it happen sooner. After their mother passed away, Daphne's father had realized his daughters would have to stand on their own eventually. He had set aside a portion of his wealth into trust funds for Daphne and Astoria - enough to allow them to live comfortably, but not enough to attract the predatory vultures of the noble families.

Still, Daphne chose to work. Astoria had gotten married a year after their father had died - Daphne smiled wistfully, thinking of her sister. Astoria was never one to work when comfort could be had easily. A Pureblood from a respectable family had proposed to her, and Astoria had accepted before the words left his lips. They had a lavish wedding, and Daphne had never seen her sister happier than the day of her wedding. She had caught Astoria throwing several condescending glances at her, but Daphne didn't particularly care. Astoria might have a well-respected name again, but Daphne had their father's name still. A surge of warmth went through her body as she thought of their father. If she died single, it wouldn't be so bad - at least she would die with her father's name. She was the last Greengrass.

In Daphne's line of work, dying was particularly easy. She was an Auror, part of the cleanup taskforce, created after the events of the war. The first year had been difficult and bloody - the giants and werewolves and vampires that the Dark Lord had welcomed into Britain had to be subdued, and either exterminated or expatriated. The giants had been particularly bad - Daphne had lost at least two partners to the giants. Both had found themselves crushed under the giants' clubs.

After the giants they had gone after the vampires. The first battle was bloody and difficult, but then Hermoine Granger - a heroine of the war - had come up with the variation of the Lumos spell that burnt the vampires' skin. They were quick to repatriate to Transylvania after that.

The werewolves were another matter altogether. Granger had refused to assist with the werewolves - though it was said she had researched a way to reign them in - and many lives were lost because of her refusal.

An ordinary Muggleborn - the word Mudblood had dropped out of popular vernacular since the fall of the Dark Lord - would have been pressured by the Wizengamot by treason charges and the like, and would have caved forever ago, but Granger had been under Harry Potter's protection. No Pureblood with any sense of self-preservation would have dared raise charges against her. It was a pity the Goyles were wiped out, Daphne snickered to herself.

Unfortunately for Granger, she hadn't known what was protecting her. She pushed Potter into going for an extended vacation to the continent by himself. Even with him gone, no one would have directly attacked Granger - but without him, people felt bold enough to make life a little ... uncomfortable for her. Hermione Granger had slowly been pushed out of the public sphere, and it had been well over a year since anyone had heard from her and a good three years since Potter had left for the continent.

With a sigh, Daphne rolled up her newspaper. It was because of the Dark Lord that Magical Britain was in imbalance. Perhaps she should have been more worried - but she was just an heiress of a House that no longer existed. There was little she could do except her job and in the end, Daphne supposed, Magic had a way of righting itself. In time the Traditionalist strength would grow again, and they would balance out the Liberals. Magic would find a way.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

"Good morning, Madam Bones," greeted Daphne politely, entering the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's office. "You asked for me?"

Madam Bones peered at her over her rimmed spectacles. "Ah yes, come in Greengrass," she said. "Congratulations on the job with the Lovegood case, it was quite well done." Despite her years of experience, Daphne blushed. Madam Bones inspired a great deal of awe in her underlings, and Daphne was not immune to the effect.

"It was nothing, Madam Bones," she said modestly.

"Nonsense," declared the Matron. "It was a case that first came up when you were a child, and a generation of Aurors failed to crack it before you. But then again," she smiled at Daphne warmly, "what else can we expect from Britain's finest."

Daphne found herself quite at a loss for words.

"Now Greengrass," continued Madam Bones. "You haven't had a partner for over six months, right?" Daphne nodded in the affirmative. She had an idea where this was going. "As you know, that's the Department limit for staying without a partner. Do you have any ideas on whom you would like as you new partner? There are quite a few unattached Aurors floating around."

Daphne closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. "Madam Bones," she began carefully. "As you mentioned, I do a good job for the Department."

"You do," confirmed Madam Bones.

"And I understand that Department rules require me to have a partner. I have been keeping an eye out - but since that unfortunate incident when Travis was ... er ... since Travis met his end under a giant club, I haven't found someone who is quite my ... umm ... my caliber," she said. "I'm not trying to be arrogant or anything ..."

Madam Bones waved her off. "No, no, I quite understand. You're one of my best, so I may be able to turn a blind eye for a few months, but in return, I may need you to do me a favour."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. For a former Hufflepuff, the Head of the DMLE could be very Slytherin when she chose. Daphne supposed it was the only way she had survived so long at the helm of the most notoriously male-dominated department in the Ministry. Madam Bones ruffled around her desk for a bit, and then at last pulled out a file and handed it to her.

"We've had a new recruit. He didn't have to go through Auror training because of the exceptional ... circumstances. He's new to the job, but obviously I can't pair him with just anyone. You're the best choice ..."

Daphne stared at the file, her throat dry.

"It would be temporary, you understand," she continued. "Just take him on a few cases, show him the ropes. And after that if either of you wants to split up, that's completely understandable."

Daphne just continued to stare at the name on the file. The name "Harry Potter" was emblazoned across it. The Boy-who-Lived was back in England.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	2. The Curious Case of Count Conner

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 2: The Curious Case of Count Conner **

It had taken several hours and a bottle of extra-strong Butterbeer for Daphne to come to terms with what had happened in Madam Bones' office. Ideally, on a day like this, she would have liked nothing more than privacy and some time to dwell on events, but luck wasn't on her side. She was scheduled to have lunch with her best friend that day - her best friend who would never forgive her if she found out that Daphne had kept something this big secret from her.

After all, what did it matter? Potter was just another partner, right? Maybe this one would get smashed under a giant's club too. A meaner part of Daphne couldn't help but feel perked up at the prospect.

"No way," shrieked Tracey Davis. "You mean THE Harry Potter?" Daphne had just finished giving her her news.

"Yes," said Daphne glumly. "I still have to meet him, but Madam Bones was very insistent that I be the one to show him the ropes." She threw up her hands in frustration. "I have better things to be doing with my time than showing him around. The Conner case has the Ministry in an uproar ..."

"What's Bones playing at?" interrupted Tracey. She had little interest in Daphne's job. Like most Purebloods, she didn't think a self-respecting Pureblood woman had any business being in the Auror corps. "Did she say whether Potter knows about this arrangement?"

Daphne nodded. "She said he seemed quite keen on it, especially once she told him about the Lovegood case."

"Potter keen on partnering with a Slytherin?" Tracey snorted. "I find that hard to believe."

"Who knows?" Daphne shrugged. "Maybe he grew up a bit. No one has seen him for three years."

She distanced herself from the conversation after that. Tracey launched into a tirade of thoughts and musings about what the return of Harry Potter meant for Wizarding Britain, but Daphne had perfected faking attention into an art form. She ooh'd and hmm'd and mumbled incoherently at all the right times, but in her mind she was wondering if she was right, and if Potter had grown up. Merlin, she hoped he hadn't agreed to be her partner out of some childish notion of revenge against Draco ...

Lunch was soon over, and when she parted ways with Tracey her mind was still on Potter, until -

"Oomph, watch it!" she cried.

An Auror, perhaps a new trainee, had knocked her flat on the ground. She pulled herself up to give him the yelling of a lifetime, except that she found herself staring a familiar, green-eyed face. He looked different from when he had left. The war had aged him - it had aged them all, but him most of all. But now somehow, he seemed to be ... lighter. More relaxed, perhaps, than he had ever been at Hogwarts, like there was a weight off his shoulders. The pain in his eyes that had become permanent towards their sixth year was either gone, or masked really well. He had a slight tan, and his rugged looks would still have set any witch's heart aflame.

Not Daphne's though. She was determined to give him a piece of her mind, and she would have too, except that again - yet again, she found herself tongue-tied and at a loss for words.

"Potter," she managed at last, with a bit of glower in her voice, she hoped.

"Greengrass," he acknowledged. They stared at each other for a few more moments, until he said, "Madam Bones said to report to you."

That snapped her out of her daze.

"Yes," she said, snapping to attention. "Have you received the file for our first case?"

"Case? I was under the impression that today was orientation."

Daphne grinned at him snarkily. This was her element. "Oh, no. If you can skip Auror training, you can certainly skip orientation, don't you think?" Without waiting for a reply, she brushed past him. "Go get your cloak, we're leaving now."

He ran to fetch his cloak like a Muggle. Daphne snorted at him - he could have just summoned it. She continued to stride purposefully down the hall and towards the lift. Just as she reached it, Potter caught up to her, panting slightly from the exertion. She wondered at that for a moment - was he so unfit physically that he was panting already?

They stepped into the lift, and about a half dozen of the Ministry's infernal airplane memo's followed her. Sometimes, when she was alone in the lift, she delighted in setting one or two of them on fire, and she wondered how Potter would react if she did that now.

"Count Conner was found incapacitated on his bed by his housekeeper at 8AM today," she lectured, certain that he had not had the time to look over the case file. "The Conners are a noble family, but not ancient. They have had wizarding ancestry for about five generations, and are best known for their ownership for what is claimed to be the scabbard of King Arthur's sword, Excalibur.

"The scabbard was in Count Conner's study at the time of the attack, but it was left untouched. Either the attacker wasn't after the scabbard or they didn't know where to find it."

"Do we have any clues as to the identity of the thief?" asked Potter. The lift shuddered to a halt, and they stepped out into the Ministry Atrium. Potter, she noticed, had pulled up his hood. Not that she blamed him - coming back from a three-year hiatus, there was little doubt he would be mobbed the moment he was noticed in public.

"None," she answered. "Conner was a harmless man. He's relatively young for a Count - 43 - but then we have a lot of young Lords these days. His father died in the war, fighting on your side. He was an auxiliary member of the Order of the Phoenix."

She shot him a sidelong glance, but he didn't seem to react, so she continued, "The current Count took over the House a few months after the war ended. The House Conner has a seat in the Wizengamot and has traditionally voted for the Liberal agenda - not surprising, considering they only have five generations of magical blood. However, their Countship come from a Muggle ancestor. The castle is largely muggle with some rudimentary wards surrounding it. The House Conner routinely hired Muggleborns and Squibs to take care of its estate - but it's said that with the new Count, staff turnover increased."

"So you think it might be a disgruntled staff member?" asked Potter.

She glared at him.

"I do not think anything, Potter," she snorted. They had reached a fireplace. She grabbed a fistful of floo powder. "We do not go into a case thinking anything. We examine the crime scene, gather evidence, and draw conclusions. Don't embarrass me by being an amateur. Castle Conner."

A whirl of green flame wrapped around her and she tucked her elbows in as she went spinning through the floo system. Her exit was well-practiced and she barely missed a step as she stepped out of the fireplace and continued walking. Behind her, the fireplace spat Potter out in a heap. He groaned and uttered some complaint about the floo, and she rolled her eyes. Such a disgrace - why didn't he just learn to step out of it properly?

She shrugged and looked around interestedly. There were in a large hall - possibly the main hall of the castle. The fireplace they had just come out of was the main fixture of the hall. Large pennants with a grey eagle on them hung from the high ceiling - that must have been the Conner Coat of Arms. The hall was spotless - there wasn't a speck of dust on the towering walls of grey stone, nor was there a single cobweb in any corner. Unlike old halls in such old castles, there was no cold, biting draft nipping around. Instead, the temperature was just north of comfortable, and Daphne knew this instantly to be the work of magic.

She closed her eyes and let tendrils of her magic spread out of her body. Sure enough, she recognized the self-cleaning enchantments on the walls, and the wards on the castle that regulated temperature. She explored further, and then suddenly her magic encountered an unexpectedly, large source of power behind her. She whipped out her wand and whirled around to face it and saw - Potter.

Of course. The man had defeated a Dark Lord. He had to be powerful. He looked bemused, and she shook her head. Don't be an amateur, she scolded herself. Finding herself tongue-tied again, she turned around and stalked out of the hall, feeling slightly irritated at Potter's footsteps behind her.

As she exited the hall and entered a long passageway, a frantic looking witch rushed at her.

"Madam Auror!" she cried. Daphne paused momentarily to study the witch. She knew the woman was a witch because of the wand sticking out of her back pocket, but otherwise the woman was dressed almost completely as a Muggle. "Madam Auror!" she cried again. "I'm glad the Ministry has finally decided to send someone!"

"I was under the impression that a team of Aurors has been here to gather evidence," said Daphne coolly. The witch stopped in her tracks.

"Oh, yes, yes," she said distractedly. "They refused to speak to us at all though. They just kicked us out to do their work, and we're all in quite a fit ..."

"And that's why I'm here," interrupted Daphne smoothly. "To ask questions, and give answers where we can. Now, can take us to the Master Bedroom where Count Conner was discovered this morning?"

Behind her, Potter cleared his throat.

"May we have a name, please?" he asked politely. The witch started. She didn't seem to have noticed Harry until now.

"Oh umm ... certainly. My name is ... oh my," she exclaimed, peering closely at Potter. He shifted uncomfortably. "Harry Potter! Oh my, Harry Potter, back in England! This changes everything! My name is Deborah Klein, Mr Potter."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms Klein," murmured Potter. Daphne looked at the witch in distaste. The woman was obviously Muggleborn, considering her clothes and the disrespectful way in which she was stashing her wand. On top of that she didn't seem to have her wits about her at all.

"The Master Bedroom, Ms Klein," said Daphne, with forced politeness.

As if to prove her right, the witch started again, and declared, "Oh my! I just remembered, I have to be somewhere! This ... umm ... this changes everything. Just follow this hallway to its end, Madam Auror. Take the staircase up, and the Master Bedroom will be on your right on the first floor. You can't miss it."

Deborah Klein turned around to flee, but in an instant, Daphne's wand was out, and she had cast a wordless Leg Locker on the witch.

"Ms Klein," she ground out forcefully. "I need you to show us the Master Bedroom." Given the frightened look she got in return, Daphne was surprised the witch didn't piss in her pants. Potter shot Daphne an odd look, but wisely decided not to say anything. Keeping her wand pointed at Klein, Daphne cancelled the Leg Locker. Klein - she was trembling now - turned around and led them down the winding hallway.

The hallway, like the Hall they had entered in, was spotless and perfectly temperature controlled. Portraits broke the monotony of the the endless grey walls, and every now and then, a tapestry of the family seal of a grey eagle would appear, draped across the wall. The portraits were all muggle, and most of them seemed to have a heavy, square jaw - a feature of the Conner family, it seemed.

Klein, mumbling fervently to herself, walked rapidly and nervously. Daphne was too well-bred to show any discomfort, but Potter was breathing heavily. She really needed to get him in shape.

They went up the stairwell Klein had mentioned and on the first floor landing, a large gilded door loomed up in front of them. An oppressive desire to turn away hit them. Daphne paused and sent the feelers of her magic out again. As expected, the Ministry team that preceded them had set up a light ward to dissuade anyone from entering. It wasn't a difficult ward to take down, but it was enough to keep over-curious friends and family from disturbing a crime scene.

Daphne waved her wand and muttered a long incantation. The ward came down, and the desire to turn away lifted. Ignoring the squeak from Klein, she waved her wand to open the door and swept inside.

"Here, Madam Auror," said Klein. She gestured towards the large four poster bed that was pushed against a wall. "Here is where we found him."

They stepped gingerly towards the bed. A musty smell of decay hit Daphne's nose. She cast a few diagnostic spells on the bed, but nothing turned up. The bed was completely non-magical. She began casting diagnostic charms around the rest of the room.

"Who found the Count in the morning?" she asked as she cast her spells.

Klein shuddered. "I did, Madam Auror."

Daphne paused.

"You are the housekeeper?" she asked skeptically.

"Umm ... yes, Madam Auror," Klein looked nervous. Daphne shook her head and continued casting charms. The room was unremarkable. The only magical residue she could find was near the Count's bedside table. Everything else was distinctly non-magical. There were even a few Muggle appliances in a corner.

"Potter, take a look at those Muggle things - tell me if anything looks suspicious. Ms Klein, tell me how you found the Count."

"Oh, it was horrible, Madam," cried Klein, throwing her hands up. She took a few steps towards Daphne, forcing her to whirl around and point her wand at Klein again. Klein squawked and took a step back. "I was bringing his coffee to his bed in the morning, Madam. That's umm ... that's how he likes it, breakfast in bed. He's a hardworking man, Count Klein, and it's a luxury he allows himself, breakfast in bed."

"Continue, please," interrupted Daphne. Klein looked startled, as if she might have forgotten there was anyone else in the room.

"Why yes, umm ... I knocked, and he didn't answer, so I waited a five minutes. Ordinarily, the Count sometimes doesn't answer immediately, if he's had ... umm ... if he's had company the night before. It's understandable, of course. He's a young man, virile ..."

"Continue, please," interrupted Daphne again, unable to keep the harshness out of her voice.

"Of course, Madam Auror. So ordinarily, I knock again five or so minutes later and the Count directs me to come inside, but this time, he didn't answer, and I heard moaning. So I panicked and dropped his coffee on the carpet ..." she pointed to the stain they had observed earlier. "Such a mistake - it's a valuable carpet! It cost ..."

Daphne shot her a stern look. Klein re-oriented herself immediately.

"Umm ... so I walked up to the bed, and I found the Count moaning to himself. I asked him if he was all right, and he moaned and asked who I was!" she looked affronted. "Imagine, I've worked for the family for thirty years! And he asked me who I was!"

"Sounds like a memory charm," observed Potter.

Klein didn't seem to have heard.

"But that's not the biggest surprise. Do you know what I found that was absolutely wild?"

Demonstrating for the first time a sense of control over herself, she pulled herself up and looked intently at Daphne with a sudden clarity in her eyes. "I found, on his bedside table," she pointed at the table from which Daphne had gleaned a magical signature, "finely grained wooden dust!"

Daphne dashed past the woman towards the bedside table, with Potter close on her heels. There was nothing about that in the case report - the Ministry team must have missed it. She was about to begin casting spells at it, when Potter edged forward.

"Allow me," he murmured. He took out his wand and brought it close to the dust. As his wand drew closer, the dust seemed to light up, and almost a song seemed to emanate from it.

"That's right," crowed Klein. "His wand, reduced to dust!"

"Phoenix feather," whispered Potter to Daphne.

Daphne straightened and looked directly at Klein.

"Ms Klein," she said formally. "What can you tell us about the household?"

Almost immediately, Klein retreated into her nervous, neurotic self. "The household, Madam Auror? Of course, of course ... Count Conner was the Head of the household, and then the Housekeeper, myself, of course. And then umm ... we have Ms Keibler and Ms Turpin, the Count's new secretaries. Ms Roth, the cook - she has worked at the castle nearly as long as myself. And of course, the groundsmen ... but they all work outside. The Count hardly ever talks to them. A Mr Reynolds - he's been in the family since the Count was a babe - Mr Reynolds takes care of the grounds and the groundsmen."

"Any family?" asked Daphne. She knew all this information, of course, but she wanted to hear it form Klein.

Klein tittered nervously. "Well, the Count was unmarried. There are women who say ... who say he fathered their children, but the Count never acknowledged any of them. He is his father's only son ... the last of the Conner men. He has a sister, she's married into an offshoot of the Abbott family. Of course, she can't produce a Conner heir, which means an end to the line ..."

"Hang on," Potter interrupted. "Why does it mean an end to the line? The Count is alive."

Daphne rolled her eyes. She would have to remind him to stay silent until he was more experienced. The housekeeper blushed and stuttered.

"The Count was castrated," said Daphne. Potter winced and reached for his privates. Why did all men have that reaction? Turning to Klein, she continued, "Apologies, Mr Potter is still new to the job."

"If the Count has bastards, he can recognize a male one," said Potter. "I don't think this was a political attack."

Daphne glared at him, and he had the grace to look abashed.

"We'll discuss this at the Ministry, Potter," she said firmly. "Ms Klein, you said the secretaries - Ms Keibler and Ms Turpin were new. How long have they worked here?"

"Ms Turpin ... has been here a year now," stammered Klein. "She's been here longer than any other secretary. Ms Keibler has been here barely a month."

"Does the Count have enough work for two secretaries?" asked Daphne. Klein blushed and stammered and looked at Daphne with wide eyes. Daphne got the message. Potter, it seemed, did not. He looked at her in askance, but she silenced him with a look. "Can you tell us the blood status of the household? Barring the Count, of course."

The Housekeeper blinked rapidly. "Blood status ... of course, Madam Auror. We are all Muggleborns, Madam Auror, excepting Mr Reynolds - he is a squib," she said. Again, the mistiness in her eyes seemed to disappear for a moment and she drew herself up and looked challengingly at Daphne. "My own mother was a Muggleborn, so you might count me a half-blood, if you consider her a witch."

Daphne chose not to comment. "Thank you for your time, Ms Klein. I have one last question: Did the Count have any company last night?"

Klein blushed and stammered again. "I ... I'm not sure, Madam Auror. But, but ..." she nervously walked towards a bare portion of the wall besides the bedside table. Picking out a blemish in the wall, she tapped it with her wand. The wall slid down silently, revealing a passageway. Daphne raised an eyebrow, surprised that her diagnostic charms hadn't found that. Perhaps it was masked by the magical pulse coming from the remains of the Count's wand? "The passage ... leads to the employee quarters."

"Are Ms Turpin and Ms Keibler in their quarters?" asked Daphne. Klein nodded frantically. "Thank you. Please give us a moment."

She moved to a corner of the room, beckoning Potter to follow her, and cast a quick privacy ward. Klein edged towards the door, but a glare from Daphne stilled her.

"Try not to speculate in front of witnesses or suspects, Potter," she began. Potter held up his hands in apology. "Now tell me what you think."

"Klein wants us to think it's the secretaries," said Potter. Daphne was pleasantly surprised. She had expected that an amateur would jump at pinning the blame on the secretaries. "I want to suspect Klein, but she doesn't seem capable of pulling off anything so ... elaborate."

Daphne frowned. "It could be a clever act. In any case, the file on the case indicates that the Count's sister is a woman with little political ambition. The Abbott she married is the son of younger brother who was the son of a younger brother. From the reports, the Count has almost complete amnesia. The mind healers don't think they can recover anything, so I doubt Conner can go around legitimizing bastards. Now do you remember Lisa Turpin from school?"

Potter nodded. "Ravenclaw, right?"

"Yes. She was very good at Runes. The wand was destroyed by means of a temporal runic circle." He looked confused, so she clarified, "They sped up time inside the runic circle, and something - probably termites - ate the wand. The phoenix feather in the wand must have disintegrated too."

"Why would she go through all that effort? Why not just snap the wand?" asked Potter.

"I don't know," she answered. "Perhaps she used the Count's wand to perform the Memory Charm and wanted to destroy the evidence. Phoenix feather wands can be remarkably resilient."

"There's one more thing, Greengrass," he hesitated before continuing. "Klein is hiding something." She raised an eyebrow. "I can do passive leglimency. Nothing illegal," he said hastily. "I can pick up feelings and emotions and the like. Klein is definitely hiding something."

"I will keep that in mind," she said. "Now, I don't want you going in there thinking Lisa Turpin is the culprit. That attitude is dangerous and it makes you look for evidence to support your theory rather than find the truth. Our job is to find the truth.

"Now let's go find out who attacked Count Conner."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	3. Count Conner's Girls

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 3: Count Conner's Girls **

The passageway was dank and musty, as if it hadn't been aired in years. The Count's Housekeeper cast _Lumos_ to light her wand as she led them down the passageway. She was frightened and mumbling to herself, and the light of her wand flickered as her mumblings intensified. Daphne followed her in silence, wand in hand, and behind her, Potter finished their little queue.

The passageway was short, and with a murmured spell, Klein opened up the other end. Daphne almost gasped in relief when the fresh air hit her nostrils. The passageway had opened to a suite of rooms.

"In years past, the Count's personal servants used this passageway to attend to him in the bedroom," murmured Klein. "There's also another passageway that leads to his study. It's faster than the main route, and it keeps the servants ... out of sight."

She pointed to two doors in the suite. "Those are the lodgings of Ms Turpin and Ms Keibler. Umm, may I be excused?"

Daphne shook her head. "I would prefer you stay with us till we're done, Ms Klein."

Klein moaned nervously.

She knocked on Keibler's door first, and they were invited to enter. The room was simple and spartan. There was a small twin bed against one corner, and a chest of drawers and a wardrobe on the opposite wall. The only decoration in the room was a full sized mirror. The window curtains were shut, and a candle was providing the only light in the dim room. The occupant of the room sat on her bed. She was a pretty, young woman with long black tresses and green eyes. Her facial features were delicate and feminine, and if her eyes had not been so puffy and red, she would have looked beautiful.

"Ms Keibler," said Daphne formally. "We're Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. May we ask you a few questions?" On receiving assent, she continued, "How long have you worked here?"

"Just under a month," answered Keibler in a low voice.

"What was your job description?" asked Daphne.

"I was asked to assist the Count in managing his investment portfolio," she replied, lowering her eyes. "I ... have some experience in managing money in the Muggle world, and the Count claimed to need help managing it."

Something in her choice of words put Daphne on alert. Claimed? "And how did you like doing that?"

"I ... I didn't get an opportunity to look at his portfolio yet."

"And what have you been doing this past month?"

Keibler gripped the side of her bed tightly. She was turning whiter by the minute. "I ... I've been keeping the Count company. He asks me to join him for dinner a few times a week. Sometimes, he'll take me out to lunch when his schedule permits."

The Housekeeper sniffed haughtily behind her.

"Ms Keibler - did the Count ever invite you to his bed?"

Keibler moaned, and fell off the bed, crumpling on the floor. Potter darted forward to help her, but Daphne held out her hand to stop him.

"This was a good job," wailed Keibler. "I ... I really needed the money. My father - he's a muggle - he got into gambling when I was at Hogwarts. He owes a tonne of money, and they're threatening him. I could have paid off his debts with this job, please," she looked at Daphne pleadingly, "you have to believe me. When you're as desperate as I am, lowering your dignity a little doesn't seem so bad."

Daphne didn't know whether the woman was trying to convince them or herself. Potter reached out and touched Daphne's arm. "She's telling the truth," he whispered.

Daphne kneeled on the floor next to the sobbing witch. "Ms Keibler, you're not in trouble. The Count is still alive. I'm sure he'll need your help with his portfolio more than ever," she looked at the Housekeeper pointedly.

"Yes, yes of course," tittered Klein.

"Now I need to ask you a few more questions. Were you with the Count on the night of his murder?"

Keibler calmed down a little.

"Yes," she sniffed. "He asked me to join him at dinner, and after dinner, I went up to his room using the servants' passageway. I didn't notice anything unusual in his room. When we were done, he sent me back."

She pulled herself up to her bed and sat upright again.

"I know he's taking advantage of me, Madam Auror," she whispered intently. "But I need this job ... no matter what it entails. I wouldn't hurt him."

"When you were with the Count, did you notice where his wand was?" asked Daphne.

She looked confused, and scrunched her face, trying to remember. "It was on his bedside table," she answered. "He always leaves it there when he sleeps."

"Thank you, Ms Keibler. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

They stepped outside, leaving the witch whimpering on her bed. Recasting the privacy ward, Daphne turned to Potter.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked.

"It's not her," he answered. He looked disgusted. "I can't believe the Count is taking advantage of her like that. Whoever attacked him, I don't blame them at all."

Daphne looked at him sadly. "We don't write the law, Potter. We are the arm of the law. We have been tasked to find out what happened to the Count and that is what we must do. Unless Ms Keibler submits a complaint to the Ministry, we cannot pursue her case."

Potter pursed his lips. "Do you think Keibler's predecessors were in similar positions."

"That's a good question for Ms Klein," said Daphne. She cancelled the privacy ward and turned towards the Housekeeper. "Ms Klein ... have the Count's previous secretaries been in similar arrangements to Ms Keibler's."

The Housekeeper looked around furtively. She looked at Daphne and nodded. The Aurors exchanged a significant look and knocked on Lisa Turpin's door.

"Come in," came a clear, cool voice. They entered to find a room similar to Keibler's, but with an entirely different occupant.

"Greengrass!" cried Turpin. "Why, I haven't seen you since graduation! I didn't think you would be assigned to this case." She looked at Potter and did the customary double-take. "Harry Potter! Back in England!" Hesitation crept into her demeanour - but then she brightened up. "What can I do for you?"

"We'd like to ask a few questions, Ms Turpin," said Daphne formally. "Where were you the night the Count was attacked?"

"I had a bit of a headache," answered Turpin. "So I asked the Count's permission to retire to my room. I understand," she added with a wicked grin, "he had requested Keibler's company for the night."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. What was Turpin playing at? Was she trying to frame Keibler.

"I see," said Daphne. "And has the Count ever requested your company in such a manner?"

Suddenly Turpin was all frozen politeness.

"Perhaps. I fail to see the relevance to the case," she answered frostily. Out of the corner of her eye, Daphne noticed that Potter's wand was out and he was murmuring something to himself. Turpin noticed too, and became distinctly more fidgety.

"Ms Turpin, you can either answer my questions, or I can have you taken to the Ministry for questioning where you will answer them under Veritaserum," said Daphne. "Quite possibly, you will be also be charged with obstructing a Ministry investigation. Now, has the Count ever requested your company in his bedroom."

Turpin shot her a venomous look, and Daphne smiled to herself. The threat of the law was very effective with Muggleborns.

"He has. The Count has a habit of doing that, you see? Sometimes he'll find a woman who catches his eye. If she's in a tough situation - as so many Muggleborn witches tend to be in the Wizarding World," she sneered, "he'll offer her a job. Oftentimes, the witch in question doesn't know what the job ends up entailing, and when she finds out, she becomes an utter wreck. But she can't leave - she's desperate. So she is obliged to whore herself out to the Count."

Daphne made no move to respond, so Turpin continued.

"Sometimes the girls the Count wants aren't quite so desperate. So he'll whisper something in an ear or two, and the girl's situation will suddenly take a turn for the worse. She'll get fired from a job, or be levied a huge fine by the Ministry for some quacked up reason. Desperately, she'll turn to the Count, and the Count will welcome her into his employ with open arms."

"Has the Count been through a lot of girls while you've been in his employ?" asked Potter.

"Yes, at least half a dozen in my year here. He has had as many as four secretaries at a time. When the Count tires of a girl, he lets her go with a handsome bonus - enough to help her scrape out of whatever fix she's in. It makes him feel less guilty, I suppose. I'm sure Keibler has told you about her father's gambling debts? Keibler doesn't know it, but the Count has purchased them. If the Count had survived to tire of Keibler, he would have magnanimously 'forgiven' those debts, I'm sure."

"What about you," asked Daphne. "Why does he keep you around? Why haven't you left?"

"I elude him often enough, and he claims to enjoy the challenge," said Turpin bitterly. "Of course, I could walk out - but it's not easy finding a job in this world as a Muggleborn, without a Pureblood of some standing to advance your rights. I stay because this is easy - and because I can protect and provide support to whoever else the Count decides to take advantage of. It gives me a purpose, you see."

"I see," said Daphne. "Please excuse us for a moment."

She and Potter stepped into a corner of the room, and she cast her privacy ward.

"What do you think?" she asked Potter.

"She feels ... gleeful," he answered. "Like she's glad that we're here. I also sense some anticipation, with a tinge of nervousness."

"I think she's our best bet," said Daphne grimly. "Were you able to detect any lies, or was she telling the truth."

"The truth," Potter replied. His brow furrowed. "Except for why she has been staying here - it seemed like she was hiding something. Everything else was the truth, including the bit about how the Count lures girls to him." He paused. "Could she have been waiting? Biding her time to take revenge on the Count?"

Daphne nodded. "It's possible. We'll have to take her into the Ministry for questioning. I think Turpin is our prime suspect at this point. Keibler is highly unlikely, and the Housekeeper might have been involved - you said she was hiding something - but it doesn't seem like she would be the direct attacker. She did lead us to Keibler and Turpin."

When Potter didn't disagree, she cancelled the privacy ward.

"Ms Turpin," she said. "I'm afraid we'll have to take you to the Ministry for questioning. You are not under arrest as of yet, but be advised that you have the right to the presence of a legal advisor during any and all questioning."

Turpin barked a short laugh, "And do you think I have the money to pay for the services of such a legal advisor? No, Auror Greengrass, I don't think I shall be going with you."

There was a loud crack, and Turpin was flung against her bed. Failed apparation - Potter must have cast an anti-apparation ward! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smirking, and then, "Stupefy!"

Potter slumped, and the ward came down. It was the Housekeeper.

"Run, Lisa!" she cried, apparating with a crack. Daphne whirled around and cast a stunner on Turpin, but it was unnecessary. The Muggleborn must have hit her head - she was out cold. Shaking her head, she revived Potter, who groaned and shook his head before taking her offered hand and pulling himself up.

"Didn't see that one coming," he said wryly.

"Yes," agreed Daphne. "I think we learned a lesson here. Next time, we should question witnesses separately, and not turn our backs on any third parties. Good job on casting the anti-apparation ward, by the way."

He blushed his thanks. Daphne pulled out a portkey from her robes and put it in Turpin's hands. She and Potter both put their fingers on it, and with a whispered password, they were whisked back to the Ministry.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The case had, Daphne reflected, gone reasonably well. With a mild truth potion - just within the legal limit - Turpin had sung like a canary. She had pretended to have a headache, and waited for the Count to be done conducting his business with Keibler. Then in the dead of the night, she had risen and silently made her way to the Count's bedroom. She cast a stunner, a powerful memory charm, and a castration hex with the Count's wand. Daphne's hunch about the Temporal Rune Circle had been right - Turpin had scratched the Rune circle on the Count's dresser and disintegrated his wand beyond repair.

The Housekeeper was in on it, though not to the extent that she and Potter had suspected. The old lady had loved the old Count and was frustrated by how his successor cared nothing for the family fortune or the family name, and how he spent his time beguiling Muggleborn women.

If caught, Klein would be charged with attacking a Ministry official and hindering an investigation, but nothing more. It was unlikely she would be caught - once a Muggleborn was so firmly under attack by the law, they tended to retreat into the Muggle world and hardly ever turned up again. After Turpin's trial, the Ministry would consider the case closed.

Daphne was sitting at her table, drinking her morning tea. The Daily Prophet was open on her table. Ordinarily, a case like the Count's would have made the front page, but today it was relegated to Page 2. The front page was screaming about the return of Harry Potter to Magical Britain. She, herself, was surprised that Potter hadn't taken up his hereditary seat at the Wizengamot. In a moment of weakness, she had asked him why he joined the Auror corps instead, and he had twinkled his damnable eyes at her and told her he wanted some "peace and quiet."

Peace and quiet, snorted Daphne. The man might have defeated a Dark Lord, but life in the corps was hardly peace and quiet. Still, each man to his own - Daphne herself preferred the life of the corps even though her Pureblood status could have opened any number of cushy jobs for her, had she so chosen.

She was about done with her breakfast when her fireplace flared green and Potter's head appeared in it. She gingerly laid down her teacup and turned to face him

"Turpin," he said. "She's escaped. Can you join us in Madam Bones' office?"

Daphne swore. "I'll be there in a minute."

Grabbing her cloak and wand, she flooed directly to the Head of the DMLE's office. Most Ministry employees had to use the public fireplaces when they flooed in to work, but Department heads and the Minister got special, restricted floo connections to their offices.

Madam Bones was waiting there with a grim expression on her face. Potter was looking at his feet. Had he accidentally let her go, Daphne wondered.

"Good of you to join us, Auror Greengrass," said Madam Bones. "Potter, please enlighten Greengrass as to how Turpin escaped."

Potter mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Louder Potter, louder," seethed Madam Bones.

"I forgot to check Turpin for portkeys," said Potter, expression downcast. Daphne smacked her head - she had never explicitly asked Potter to check for portkeys! With neither Auror training nor an orientation, of course he would never think to check for portkeys! She had been lulled, she supposed, by his moderate competence on the field into thinking that he knew his way about the Department.

"Mr Potter has been informed," said Madam Bones icily, "that one more infraction like this, and he'll be on his way to Auror training, no matter how many Dark Lords he has defeated."

"That isn't Potter's fault," spoke up Daphne. "Madam Bones, I asked him to put away Turpin, but I didn't ask him to check for any portkeys or the like ..."

Madam Bones paused.

"Greengrass," she said. "Tell me you went through Orientation with him." Daphne said nothing and lowered her gaze. "Oh for the love of Merlin ... Greengrass, that Orientation exists for a reason!"

Daphne ducked her head and said nothing. There was nothing to say. She should have made Potter do his orientation - or given him more thorough directions if she wasn't going to give him orientation.

"I would suspend you if I didn't need you to find Turpin," continued Madam Bones. "I expected better from you."

"I apologize Madam Bones," said Daphne, not meeting her Boss' eyes. Her face was burning. "I wasn't thinking straight. I'll track down Turpin as soon as I can."

"You had better," growled Madam Bones. "Or the Wizengamot will have our heads."

"Of course Madam Bones," she said politely. "If I may ..."

Madam Bones gestured to her to get out, and she hightailed from there, with Potter on her heels. Once out of the office, her embarrassment melted away into anger and she strode purposefully and angrily.

"I'm sorry Greengrass..."

"Stuff it, Potter," she said viciously. He fell silent. She knew it wasn't his fault, but she couldn't help but be angry at him. Hadn't he literally just won a war? Shouldn't he know to check a downed enemy for means of escape transportation? Merlin, it was a minor miracle he had stopped the Dark Lord. She had worked so hard to get to the top of the Auror corps, to gain a reputation as one of Britain's best, and now she felt it slipping away from her.

They walked into a lift when the doors opened. A frightened looking trainee Auror took one look at Daphne's black face, and with an "eep"", he positively fled away from them. The doors shut behind them and Daphne scowled the airplane memo that was the third occupant in the lift. The memo turned towards her, as if it were scowling back at her.

In an instant, her wand was out, and the memo was a pile of smouldering ash on the floor. Potter raised an eyebrow and she glared at him, daring him to comment - but instead, he just took out his wand and vanished the ashes with a whispered Evanesco. A peace offering, Daphne presumed.

"Where did you take Turpin to?" she asked shortly.

"Down to the holding cells in Corridor B," he responded. Good, at least he was able to obey orders. The lift shuddered to a stop, and they marched out into the holding cells towards Corridor B. He pointed her towards the cell he had put Turpin in, and she took out her wand and entered gingerly.

The cell was caked in dirt. An initial diagnostic charm revealed the traces of a portkey being taken. Potter had his wand out, and he was frowning.

"What is it?" she asked, following his gaze to the spot where her charms told her the portkey was taken.

"The magical signature of that portkey," he said uncomfortably, "it feels familiar ... and warm."

Daphne shrugged. "It's probably Turpin's signature, and you went with her to school, so it makes sense ..."

"No," Potter interrupting, shaking his head. "It's someone else. I can't place it, but it's definitely not Turpin."

"Maybe Turpin had an accomplice," she said grimly. She picked up a stone from the grimy floor, and moving her wand in a complex motion, she muttered a stream of latin and tapped first the part of the floor where the portkey had been taken and then the stone.

"Finger on the stone, Potter," she said, enjoying his incredulous look. That was a bit of family magic there, and for all his power, it was an advantage he couldn't take away from her.

The portkey deposited them in the middle of a forest.

"Wands out, you reckon?" asked Daphne, and Potter flinched. "What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head and pulled out his wand. "_Venor_."

A shimmering blue light left his wand and streaked through the trees around them, forming a path. Daphne looked at him in surprise.

"You had a tracking charm on Turpin?" she asked. Maybe he wasn't so incompetent after all. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "You told me to stuff it," he said.

Daphne couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"I apologize," she said softly. "I value Madam Bone's opinion of me, and our conversation ... threw me off track. It was very unprofessional of me."

"Don't worry about it," said Potter.

They followed the path in silence. Potter's wand was held aloft, the blue light coming from it both leading them and lighting their way. It was early morning still. The ground was damp with dew and the birds were just beginning to chirp. It was an old forest they were in, for the trees were tall and their trunks wide. Their blue trail soon turned off the beaten path and they plunged into an area of the forest that seemed immensely old. The trees became gnarled and closer together. Their branches melded together, forming a canopy over their heads, and the light dimmed and dimmed until Daphne wished she could cast a _Lumos_, but she didn't dare lest Turpin get an idea that they were coming.

They walked slowly and softly, and Daphne cast a silencing charm on their feet to help them walk more quietly still. The chirping of the birds lessened and lessened, until it ceased altogether, and the air itself seemed pregnant with magic. Daphne cast out her magical sense, and was immediately overwhelmed from all sides. Wherever they were, it was an extremely magical place.

Potter saw it first - for he stopped. She paused next to him, and saw what he saw. Through the trees she could make out a clearing, and in the center of the clearing, there was a magical artifact. She couldn't tell what it was, she just knew that it was intensely magical. Reams of power emanated from it, and Daphne felt its strength wash over her. It simultaneously exhilarated and terrified her. This, then, must be the center of this forest. Even Potter was affected - and he was the most powerful magical in Britain since Dumbledore.

Their blue trail entered the clearing and then simply diffused into the air. Daphne felt the hair on her neck rise, and a feeling on uneasiness arose deep within her.

"I feel it too," spoke Potter. He cancelled his tracking charm. "We should leave. We're not just dealing with Turpin any more."

Daphne nodded. She pulled out the stone she had used as a portkey - she didn't dare pick anything off the ground in this forest - and touched the earth with her wand, and then the stone. The stone glowed blue for a moment, and then dimmed again.

"I've made it a portkey," she said softly. "So it can bring us back and forth from here."

He nodded and they disappeared with a simultaneous pop. Some magics were best left alone.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	4. Ynys Mon

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 4: Ynys Mon **

"I don't know how I felt about that forest," said Potter with a shiver. They were sitting in their shared office. Daphne was drinking a cup of tea to calm herself, while Potter had preferred butterbeer. Both of them were frazzled, and Potter was flipping through a book called 'Magical Sites in Great Britain'. "What was it?"

"I don't know," said Daphne, "but I'm more interested in what happened to your tracking charm in that clearing. It seemed to just ... fade."

"Perhaps it was the magic," mused Potter. "The magic in the clearing was very intensely concentrated. It must have interfered with the tracking charm. Why did Turpin go in there? Surely she must have felt what we felt ..."

Clarity struck Daphne like lightning. She burst out laughing.

"Potter, we're idiots."

"Huh?"

Grinning like a maniac, she pulled out an old, heavy tome on warding. Daphne didn't have a particular interest in warding, but the book had been a favourite of her father's, and she kept it in her office as a momento of him. It was a seminal, albeit outdated treatise on warding written in the seventh century, but the ward she was looking for was equally old.

"There," she said triumphantly, pointing at a section in the book. "When we first walked up to the clearing, we felt the magic right? But not the feeling of uneasiness?" Potter nodded his assent. "And that feeling - it came in after we edged towards the border. We must have crossed the ward line!"

Potter examined the section she had opened. "A Repulsion Ward?"

"Yes!" declared Daphne happily. "The Ministry ward for protecting crime scenes is a watered down version of this ward. This thing - now this thing is powerful." She saw, suddenly, that Potter was leaning back and looking at her with an amused look on his face. "What?"

"Nothing," he smiled. "I don't think I've seen you this excited before."

Daphne's enthusiasm melted away. Was he patronizing her? She opened her mouth to deliver a biting comment when the familiar sensation of tongue-tiedness washed over her. She settled for giving Potter a glare, and gratifyingly noted that he looked a little more nervous for it.

"So," he continued hurriedly. "We were affected by a Repulsion Ward. How did Turpin know how to set up a Repulsion Ward? And why would she set up a Repulsion Ward around such a magically powerful place? And how come the magic of the place wasn't interfering with it? You saw what it did to my tracking charm."

"I don't know," admitted Daphne glumly, "I'm no expert in Magical Theory. I passed my OWL Runes, but I didn't take a NEWT in them."

She sat up and put her cup of tea down. Grabbing two pieces of parchment, she scribbled two notes on them, and cast a quick charm. Immediately the two notes formed paper airplanes and flew out of their office. Potter looked at her curiously.

"It was a note to the Department of Mysteries," said Daphne. "I asked if they could spare an Unspeakable for an hour, or failing that, recommend a warding expert."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why did you send two copies?"

"In case someone burns down one of them, of course," said Daphne with the straightest face she could manage.

Potter burst out laughing, and Daphne couldn't stop a pleased smile from sneaking onto her face.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Perhaps the task that Harry had been dreading the most since coming back to England was visiting the Burrow. He should have gone to the Weasleys before the Daily Prophet got wind of him - but it had been three years! How was he supposed to show his face after three years? Just walk into the Burrow like he had before he left for the continent? Or should he have sent an owl?

He wished Hermione was still around - but one of the first things he had learned on landing in Britain was that Hermione had vanished from Wizarding Society. He knew she was all right, of course, because they had kept up their correspondence, but Hermione had mentioned nothing about leaving Magical Britain. His latest letter - penned immediately on arrival in Britain - had demanded an explanation, and he was still waiting on a response.

Tonight, though, he was determined to get it over with. Half-preparing for the earful he knew he would receive from Mrs Weasley, he apparated over to the perimeter of the wards. His heart welled at the familiar sight of the lopsided building looming in front of him. Gingerly, he stepped over the wards, and felt the magic wash over him and accept him.

It was evening, and he could hear the bustle from the building - Mrs Weasley must be setting out the dinner table. He hesitated again. Should he have floo-called in advance? He brushed aside those feelings and strode purposefully ahead and knocked on the door. The bustling noises died down.

The door opened a crack and a pair of brown eyes peered out at him - the door opened wider.

"Harry!" cried Charlie Weasley. "We were wondering when you would come around!" He noticed that Charlie was tightly gripping his wand. Old habits died hard. Charlie had fought hard in the War.

"Harry?" Mrs Weasley rushed through past her son and enveloped Harry in a tight hug.

"Mrs Weasley," gasped Harry, the air crushed out of him.

"It's good to see you," she sniffed. "Come in, come in."

He followed her inside. The Burrow was still the same - Harry couldn't see a single thing that had changed - except that the inhabitants looked older. Mrs Weasley's red was mixed in with grey now, and Mr Weasley, who had already been sporting grey before the war, only had strands of red hair left. Charlie's face had hardened, and there was a nasty burn across his chin.

"From Norberta," he said cheerfully, by way of explanation. "She got me the day before I was to portkey to Britain." Mrs Weasley harrumphed her disapproval.

Fred and George Weasley were huddled in a corner, playing with a baby - baby? Whose baby? And who in their right minds would trust them with a baby anyway? Ginny was sitting on the couch reading. She perked up when she saw Harry, and walked over to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek that left him a little pink.

"It's good to have you back," she said warmly, but she returned to the couch with her book before Harry had the chance to make any conversation. Percy was nowhere to be seen and Charlie told Harry that Bill was away on an expedition for a few weeks still. But more than anyone else, Harry wanted to see his first friend at Hogwarts -

"Ron!" hollered Mrs Weasley. "Come see who's here!"

"Coming," came a muffled shout. There was a pattering of feet and a tall, lanky, familiar redhead appeared at the foot of the stairs. Harry stepped forward to give him a hug when - "Oh. It's you, is it," said Ron, with disinterest that pierced Harry like a dagger. "Finally decided to show your face, have you?"

"Oh come now, Ron," tut-tutted Mrs Weasley. "It's not his fault."

"No, it is my fault," interrupted Harry. "I'm sorry Ron. I didn't know if I should ... just show up. It's been three years."

"Well you did it now, didn't you, you git," said Ron waspishly. "I found out from my teammates that you were back in Britain. I'm supposed to be your best mate! But then again, you didn't even bother to show up for my wedding."

"That wasn't my fault!" cried Harry. "The Owl you sent with the invite got lost and showed up after the wedding date! I sent you an apology ..."

A feminine figure showed up behind Ron. A tired-looking Lavender Brown, or Lavender Weasley now, was standing behind him.

"Now Won-Won," she said softly. "It wasn't his fault, you know that."

Ron grumbled and glared. His wife nudged him, and he obediently stepped forward to give Harry a hug. Harry returned the hug unwilling, feeling less than enthused by his welcome or lack thereof.

"Have you met our little Rose?" asked Lavender, guiding him towards Fred and George. Harry's heart almost stopped. Ron - his friend, Ron - had a baby?

"Our first grandchild!" declared Mrs Weasley proudly. "Dinner's on the table, why don't you boys go sit down? Fred and George, I can take Rose for a bit."

Rose was possibly the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. She had short red curls, and her eyes were tightly shut. She was sucking on her first and in her other hand, she was tightly grasping Fred's finger. There was a tenderness in the twins' faces that Harry had never seen before. Mrs Weasley picked up Rose, and the twins gave Harry silent hugs, mouthed a hello each. Harry hesitated, looking at Rose, and the twins smiled.

"We'll catch up later," whispered Fred, heading towards the dinner table.

"How old is she?" asked Harry, softly.

"Barely six months," whispered Mrs Weasley, gently rocking the child. With a sigh, she continued, "You mustn't blame Ron - he lost two of his closest friends within the span of a year, and it was very difficult for him."

"Him and Hermione ...?" They had been dating when Harry had left.

"It never worked out," said Mrs Weasley sadly. "Hermione wanted to do too much. Ron wanted to do just enough. They broke up six months after you left, and things were frigid for a while. Hermione stopped coming around. I sent Charlie after her. He tried to explain to her that she needed to have at least the public friendship of the Weasley family, and Arthur and I were willing to extend that to her, but she sent back her polite refusal.

"She got fired from her job at the Department of Mysteries soon after that. The official reason was some blunder in regards to paperwork, but her Pureblooded colleagues make worse mistakes on a daily basis. The real reason, everyone knows, was that she refused to help out with the Lycanthrope wars."

"Those were starting up as I left," remembered Harry.

"Yes," said Mrs Weasley, rocking Rose back and forth. "After she basically won the Ministry the Vampire Wars, people were expecting a similar miracle against the werewolves. She refused to help the Ministry because of how they had treated werewolves for years - she claimed they were humans too. At first only the Traditionalists were outraged, but soon the werewolf bitings increased and dozens of people were turned. Public opinion turned against her, and she couldn't get a job if she tried. Within a few months - Bill told me this - she closed her Gringotts account and vanished from the Wizarding World."

Harry's heart went out to his old friend. How could she not have told him of this? He would have come back from the continent immediately.

"Did no one try and find her?" he asked.

"Fred and George tried writing her once," answered Mrs Weasley. "But the Owl they sent came back with the letter unopened. They tried a tracking charm, and the charm failed."

Harry's ears perked up. "The charm failed?"

"Yes, it went through all the way to somewhere off the coast of Wales. There's a Magical Forest on Ynys Mon ..."

"Ynys Mon? Hang on," Harry frantically summoned a piece of parchment and grabbed a quill to scribble down the name. "The tracking charm failed at Ynys Mon?"

Mrs Weasley nodded. "Perhaps Hermione was visiting there with her parents - there's a sizable Muggle community in the area, and the forest is well hidden, of course."

"I have to go," said Harry breathlessly. Seeing her confused expression, he added, "There's a case at work where we had a similar failure for a tracking charm. I think it might be related to Ynys Mon ..."

"Ah," said Mrs Weasley understandingly. "Go ahead, I'll explain to the boys why you had to go. Come by for dinner some time, won't you?"

"Of course, Mrs Weasley," promised Harry.

"And don't worry about Ron. He'll come around. You know how he is ..."

"I'll come to visit you, Mrs Weasley," said Harry warmly. "You're like a mother to me."

Mrs Weasley gave him a tight hug that left him lost for breath, before letting him grab his cloak and apparate away.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

"Ynys Mon?" exploded Daphne. "We were at Ynys Mon?"

Potter nodded, holding up his copy of 'Magical Sites in Great Britain.' "It was in here all along - I just didn't know what I was looking for." He looked positively gleeful at his discovery.

"It can't be Ynys Mon," repeated Daphne.

Potter looked up. "Why not?" he asked.

Daphne looked at him incredulously. Surely he couldn't be that dense! "Every magical child knows ..."

"Well, I don't," he snapped, shutting his book with a bang. "In case you've forgotten Greengrass, I was Muggle-raised. I don't know much about Magical culture or folklore. Merlin knows, all Binns was good for was goblin wars. Why don't you explain to me what every magical child knows, instead of spluttering like a tea kettle!"

Daphne felt taken aback. This was the first time Potter had snapped at her. She felt embarrassed - it was easy for her, as a Pureblood, to assume that Muggleborn and Muggle-raised Magical folk had the same culture she did. It was one of the arguments Muggleborns tended to raise time and again against the hereditary nature of the Wizengamot - that Muggleborn interests weren't adequately represented. Daphne agreed with the Pureblooded perspective - Muggleborns were too fresh in the Wizarding world to be allowed to let their Muggle culture taint Wizarding tradition. It took a few generations for a Wizarding family to become immersed in and appreciate Wizarding culture, instead of barging ahead and trying to change it just because they weren't used to it.

"I apologize Potter," she said formally. "I'll try and explain. What have you learned from your book so far?"

Potter opened up his book again. "Ynys Mon was once the great center of Magical Britain. In the ancient days, before Hogwarts, before the Founders, before even Merlin himself, the tribes and villages of Britain used to send their magically inclined youth to Ynys Mon for training, and the youth were sent back to the tribes and villages to serve as their Druids. The founding of Ynys Mon is shrouded in history, but its tragic demise is well recorded. In the year 44 AD, the Roman armies invaded Britain. The Romans despised any magic different from that of their own wizards, and began a systematic persecution of the Druidic culture.

"The druids who had once been honoured in their tribes were cast out, for fear of Roman wrath. Others fled for their lives, not wanting to put family and friends in danger. The Romans killed them where they found them. The Druids retreated further and further west, and the Roman armies spread through Britain, until the only place left where Druids could live in peace was Ynys Mon.

"When the rest of Britain was wiped clear of Druids, the Roman Wizard Paulinus summoned all the Roman wizards in Britain, and aided by a Roman Muggle army, they crossed the straits of Menai. In an immense battle, the likes of which was never before seen on the British Isles, all the magic of the Druids was hurled against the Magic of the Romans, a magical cataclysm took place that forever altered the ambient Magic on Ynys Mon.

"The Roman Army was eventually successful when the traitor Druid Shannara - promised his life and a bag of gold in return - showed them a weakness in the Druidic battle plan. The Romans overpowered the Druids and executed Shannara for his services. They then rounded up all the Druids on the island and executed them on their own sacrificial altars. When not a single Druid was left alive, the altars themselves were burnt down.

"Today, Ynys Mon is an almost completely muggle community. No magical families is allowed by the Ministry to live on Ynys Mon, because the ambient magic on the Isle interferes with the Magical development of children. There is a high incidence of Muggleborn Magical births on Ynys Mon, but very few children tend to have magical levels high enough to attend Hogwarts."

Potter closed the book and looked at Daphne. "That's all it says."

Daphne sighed. "That is a good beginning. But to add on to it, Potter, Druidic culture was such that they wrote down nothing of their magic. They believed that writing about magic weakened Magic itself - the Druids passed down their learning by oral methods. That's why some of the greatest bards of pre-Roman Britain were Druids. When the Romans attacked Ynys Mon, they wiped out an entire magical culture, and plunged Magical Britain into a Dark Age that lasted a thousand years. We didn't recover until the founding of Hogwarts provided another magical bastion for Wizards and Witches."

"I still don't see why Turpin being at Ynys Mon is making you so angry," said Potter. "If the Ministry forbids people from living there, it makes it a natural destination for any outcasts ..."

Daphne looked as if she might explode. "Don't, you see Potter? The Romans destroyed our ancestral culture at Ynys Mon. When we go to Hogwarts, we learn spells in Latin. We learn Roman Magic! We have to - when British Magic was destroyed on Ynys Mon, the only Wizards around were Roman Wizards. They taught the magical children of Britain for five centuries, we learned their magic - it was the only magic that could be learned then. We - our culture - is a symbol of their triumph. Going back to Ynys Mon - the site of Magical Britain's greatest defeat – as Roman Wizards and Witches is to spit in our ancestors' faces ..."

"Ah," said Potter, understanding dawning on his face. "What about the Founders? And Merlin? Were they Roman Wizards?"

Daphne shook her head. "Merlin was a Druid. A few Druids survived Ynys Mon because they hadn't gotten there by the time of the Roman attack. They ended up disguising themselves as bards, travelling from village to village, begging for food and shelter. Occasionally, if they found a particularly strong child, they would apprentice them and pass on their magic. Merlin came from one of these lines of Druidic bards, and he is the only one whose name survives to this day."

"What happened to these bards?" asked Potter curiously.

"Muggle Christianity," said Daphne bitterly. "But that's not relevant at the moment, Potter. Let's go report to Madam Bones."

They got up and walked in silence to Madam Bones' office. With a knock and a stern, "come in!" they entered. Potter stood behind Daphne and let her report. Madam Bones looked at them in silence while Daphne reported, her expression getting stonier and stonier. Towards the end of the report, Madam Bones was a raging tempest.

"Excellent work, Greengrass," she said. "I will report this to the Wizengamot."

Daphne started. "The Wizengamot, Madam Bones? Isn't that a bit ... serious?"

Madam Bones nodded grimly. "This isn't the first report on Ynys Mon that has come my way in recent days. We've had an increased number of magical incidents on Ynys Mon that started before you tracked down Turpin. I wonder if it's not a leftover cell of You-know-who's Death-Eaters that is becoming more active."

"But not even the Dark Lord's followers would infiltrate Ynys Mon!" cried Daphne. "And Turpin is a Muggleborn."

"Then she will not be the first Muggleborn to be imperiused," said Madam Bones crisply. "I will arrange for a few recon missions to Ynys Mon - I'm sure the Wizengamot will approve them, given that we are talking about Ynys Mon. Until then, Greengrass, I ask you to focus on Potter's orientation. I will reach out to you if we need further assistance with this case."

Daphne bowed her head, though she was inwardly seething. Turpin was her failure, and she wanted to fix it. "Of course Madam Bones."

"Thank you, Greengrass. That will be all."

The dismissal was all, and with Potter in tow, Daphne left Madam Bones' office.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	5. The Death of Elphias Doge

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 5: Death of Elphias Doge **

When Daphne greeted Potter with news of the death of Elphias Doge, he staggered back a few steps. It had been a week since they had been taken off the Conner Case, and Daphne had dutifully put Potter through the Auror orientation. It had been relatively easy - Potter's magical skills were extraordinary, and he had only needed instruction in protocol matters.

His physical fitness, on the other hand, left much to be desired. He hadn't played Quidditch in a while and his stamina was low. While it wasn't strictly part of the Auror training regimen, Daphne had imposed an exercise program on him. He had grumbled about it, but Daphne casually mentioned that if he wanted to stay her partner, she expected him to keep up with her. His complaints had dropped off after that.

And so, Potter stood in front of her. He had come from his morning exercise routine, and his messy hair was damp still from his shower - had he never heard of the drying charm? She never failed to be amused by the many ways in which his muggle upbringing showed itself.

Elphias Doge had just died. He was a prominent member of the Wizengamot, a Liberal nearly as old as Dumbledore and a solid ally of his. And, apparently, he was an acquaintance of Harry Potter's.

"How did you know him?" asked Daphne curiously.

"He was in the Order of the Phoenix," answered Potter. His eyes had dimmed. "He was a very polite man, he adored Dumbledore. He fought hard and bravely against Voldemort. How did he die?"

Daphne flinched at the name.

"Cardiac arrest," she responded. "He was under attack, and his heart just failed. And Potter ..." she hesitated before continuing, "there was a temporal runic circle around his wand."

Potter's eyes glinted. "Turpin," he hissed.

"Yes," nodded Daphne. "We're back on the case. We are going to Doge's residence to investigate, so grab your robes and let's go."

Potter duly grabbed his robes and followed her to the Ministry fireplace, from where they floo'd to the Doge residence.

In every way that the Conner Castle had been ostentatious, the Doge Residence was simple. It was a small, three bedroom house on the outskirts of Godric's Hallow. Elphias Doge lived alone - his wife had long since passed away. The house bore all the marks of bachelorhood; the sink was filled with unclean dishes - how hard was it to cast a cleaning charm, Daphne wondered - and dirty laundry littered the old furniture in the house. There was a dining table in the living room that had a teapot on it, and an old stack of Daily Prophets. The wallpaper was dirty and peeling.

Unlike Conner Castle, however, this home was clearly magical. There was a large magical portrait of a sobbing couple above the fireplace they had come out of. A battered old Cleansweep was leaning against the mantelpiece. Daphne reached out with her magic, and the house responded to her touch. This was a place where several generations' worth of magic users had lived.

She turned to the portrait.

"Hello," she said politely. The couple was dressed in Victorian clothes. The man was gruff and moustached, but tears were glistening in his eyes. He had a strong resemblance to Elphias, and was holding up the woman who was weeping into his chest. "Who are you?"

"We are Elphias' parents," said the gruff man. "I take it you are Ministry Aurors."

"Yes," said Daphne. "Can you tell us anything about the attack."

"I can tell you she came in through the front door," said the gruff man. The woman hadn't stopped weeping. "She walked in like a common Muggle, and she was dressed in Muggle garb. She went straight to Elphias' bedroom. An hour later, she walked back out. We heard nothing."

"You didn't think to warn Elphias?" asked Daphne.

The man snorted. "Elphias had female company once in a while, since his wife died. It's hardly prudent, but we are a portrait. He hardly listened to us."

"Do you know what kinds of women he had?" asked Daphne. The man shrugged and turned to his wife. He didn't seem interested in answering.

Daphne turned around and headed towards the bedroom where Elphias had died. The bedroom was as slovenly as the living room. Clothes littered the floor, including dirty undergarments. The bed was a mess, and there was a pungent smell of human waste emanating from it. Daphne fought hard to keep her breakfast down. It looked like Elphias had lost control of his bowels as he died.

On his dresser, they saw again the finely grained dust. Potter held his wand over it, but there was no response this time - perhaps Elphias' wand didn't have a phoenix feather core. Potter cast a diagnostic spell on the dresser.

"Definitely Turpin," he said grimly. "But why did she attack Doge?"

Almost as if on cue, a letter appeared above them and floated onto the bed. Potter reached towards it, but Daphne rapped his knuckles with her wand. Instead, she cast a levitation charm on it and brought it closer to them. He looked at her apologetically, but she ignored him.

"Ask for Penelope Spencer," was written on the letter. It was a hasty scrawl, written on paper instead of parchment.

"That name sounds familiar," frowned Daphne, but she couldn't place it. She cast a few diagnostic charms on the paper, and once it came out clean, she pocketed it.

There was nothing else in the room. It seemed as if Turpin had entered and left as a Muggle.

"Should we ask the portrait about Penelope Spencer?" asked Potter. Daphne agreed, so they went to the living room, but the gruff man told them he didn't know any Penelope Spencer, and that they should please leave and stop bothering him and his wife.

Back in the Ministry, Daphne was able to find their next clue. A witch named Penelope Spencer had attended Hogwarts from 1983 to 1990 - Daphne and Potter had just missed her at Hogwarts. She was a Muggleborn from Bath. She had had excellent grades in her OWL's, but she had barely scraped through her NEWT's.

There was only one record of her after Hogwarts - a complaint filed to the DMLE a year ago. With a start, Daphne remembered where she had heard the name - she had processed the complaint.

Penelope Spencer had written to complain to the DMLE about Elphias Doge using a Love Potion on her Muggle husband in an attempt to pursue her. Spencer complained that her husband had run off with a "Muggle slag" the love potion had keyed to. Doge had comforted her and stuck with her through the traumatic experience, and eventually slept with her. After sleeping with her, he felt guilty enough to confess, and Spencer had - in a fit of rage - hexed him.

Since the complaint had related to using a love potion on a Muggle, Daphne had sent the complaint along the Department of Muggle Liaisons. According to the report, the Department had fined Doge 50 galleons - a paltry sum, snorted Daphne - half of which was offered to Penelope Spencer. Spencer threw the galleons at the Ministry representative's face and threw an unholy fit - after which she was fined 100 galleons for attacking a Ministry worker.

Shortly after, Elphias had filed in a complaint about the hexing he had received from Spencer. Since Spencer had confessed to hexing Elphias, she was ordered by the court to pay another 300 galleons in fines. Spencer was unable to raise the amount, so instead she was sentenced to a week in Azkaban. That was the last the Wizarding World had heard of her.

"Another revenge attack then," mused Potter when she showed him the report. "I can't believe Doge did something like that. He was such a gentlemanly chap - perhaps with an absurd interest in strange hats - but I never imagined him ever doing something like this."

"We all have our skeletons in our closets," said Daphne grimly. "No witch or wizard is perfect. Spencer's case is a tragedy - I can't believe the Muggle Liaison office only fined Doge 50 galleons for ruining Spencer's life in an attempt to seduce her. It's absurd, but I looked up the relevant laws, and they followed the letter of the law. If Doge had used the love potions on Spencer herself, he would have been fined a lot more, and possibly had to deal with a sentence in Azkaban."

"Is attacking a Witch or Wizard that much worse than attacking a Muggle?" asked Potter, looking at Daphne in the eye.

Daphne shrugged. "I do not write the laws, Potter. Perhaps it's because Witches and Wizards write the laws, they write in extra-stringent protections for their own. Or perhaps because we have to routinely confound and obliviate Muggles to protect the International Statue of Secrecy, attacking Muggles is less stigmatized. I do not know, nor do I find it relevant. If you do, maybe you should consider taking up your family seat on the Wizengamot."

Potter snorted. "I have no desire to deal with a bunch of old fartbags," he said, "but this case is an absurdity ..."

He was interrupted by a large purple airplane memo flying into their office and settling on Daphne's desk.

"A summons to the Wizengamot," read Daphne. "I am to testify before the Wizengamot immediately."

"Am I summoned too?" asked Potter. She shook her head.

"I trust you'll keep yourself out of trouble?" she asked, and swept away before waiting for a response.

Daphne had stood before the Wizengamot only once before - when heroes of the Vampire and Werewolf wars were being given awards. She had been given particular distinction for her defense during an attack on the Flint estate, for protecting an old and noble line. Daphne didn't think she had done anything spectacular, but she had a feeling that one of the families that had taken over her father's political power had pushed for her to receive that reward as a matter of remorse, or perhaps duty. Daphne didn't care - she had received the award with the perfunctory smiles and bows, and now it was collecting dust in a box somewhere. She had only done her job, as far as she was concerned.

She pushed the doors of the Wizengamot hall open to find it packed full. It seemed as though most of the 150 representatives were present. The Wizengamot members - mostly old, grey-haired men - were sitting in their pews facing the center-stage. Behind them was the press box. On the center-stage, Madam Bones was standing, apparently giving a report to the Wizengamot. Behind her was the podium of the Chief Warlock, who ran the Wizengamot proceedings. Amos Diggory - another hero of the War against the Dark Lord and a Liberal leader - was standing behind the podium.

Madam Bones gestured towards Daphne to join her. She went up the stage obediently and stood behind Madam Bones.

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot," said Madam Bones. "I present one of the best Aurors in our force - Daphne Greengrass. She won distinctions in the Werewolf and Vampire wars from this honoured body, and more recently, she closed out the Lovegood case that was unsolved for 19 years." The members tittered in appreciation. "She has been investigating the Turpin case."

She stepped aside and Amos Diggory called out, "The Wizengamot recognizes Auror Greengrass."

Daphne stepped forward. "It's an honour to appear before the Wizengamot," she said politely. Concisely and clearly, she began to debrief the Wizengamot on the Turpin case.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

While Daphne was presenting before the Wizengamot, Harry was out in Muggle London. Penelope Spencer, Harry reasoned, lived within the Muggle world, and there had to be more extensive records of her there. In his three year expedition, Harry had learned much about the magical world on the continent, but also about the Muggle world. He was delighted and fascinated with the development of the internet. The last computer he had handled - in 1991 before heading off to Hogwarts - had had no internet connection, and Dudley had used floppy disks to run his games. While on the continent, Harry had been introduced to magic of the World Wide Web.

There was a Muggle Library only steps away from Ministry of Magic in Muggle London, and after finagling with the Librarian for a bit, Harry was able to get a permit to use one of the library computers. He logged on and searched for Penelope Spencer in the UK Whitepages. About twenty results came in. A dozen he discarded as too old, and another half dozen as too young. Of the last two, only one had an address available - an address that was luckily in Surrey. In fact, Harry thought he knew approximately which street it was on.

Signing off the computer, he apparated to a dark alleyway not far from the street. He had taken off his robes to fit in better amongst the Muggles, but it was a reasonably hot summer day and not many people were outside. The manicured lawns of suburbia and the identical houses brought back to him painful memories of the Dursleys, but he suppressed them and focused on walking to his destination.

The house in question was as dull and drab as the rest, but the lawn was a little less manicured and there was a broken swing in a corner of the lawn, daring to stand out in the oppressing sea of uniformity. Harry had no doubt that Ms Spencer was a bit of a black sheep in her neighbourhood.

He knocked, and there was a pause - then he heard the footsteps and a latch was unhooked, and a redheaded woman with large eyes looked out at him. She was no supermodel - her eyes were too close together and her lips were too thin - but she was undeniably pretty. There was a little bit of unkemptness about her in the way strands of hair jutted form the bun that held them up and the way her glasses were slightly lopsided, but Harry thought that made her more endearing.

"May I help you?" she asked politely.

"My name is Harry Potter, Ma'am," began Harry, but the woman squawked and drew her eyes to his forehead. Reluctantly, he parted his bangs to show her his scar. He didn't think it was possible for her eyes to grow wider. "May I come in?"

"Of course, of course," she whispered fervently, stepping aside to let him in. The inside of the house was the same as the outside. Everything was in place, everything was in order, but everything was ever so slightly crooked. The painting that hung over the mantelpiece was a little tilted, and the couches were ever so slightly fraying. The carpet had a small burn in one corner, and the coffee table was a little off-center. "Can I offer you some tea?"

"Milk, two sugars, please," said Harry politely, remembering Aunt Petunia's indoctrination. The woman bustled around in her kitchen. Less than a minute later, she emerged holding a tray that had two steaming cups of tea on it. He wondered if she had already had water on the boil or whether she had used a warming charm - he couldn't make out a wand on her person. His passive leglimency couldn't pick out much either, except that she was incredibly nervous.

"What can I do for you?" asked Penelope Spencer, after they had both taken their first sips and Harry had complimented her tea.

Harry hesitated. "I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, but do you remember an Elphias Doge?" The nervousness emanating from her vanished. It was replaced by a pure, hot rage. Her face contorted and she gripped her cup tightly. When she said nothing Harry plowed ahead. "He was found dead this morning."

Relief. Was it gratefulness? Anger, mingled with relief. Confusion.

"I see," said Penelope Spencer slowly. "Why did you come here to tell me this?"

"There was a note found on his bed with your name on it," said Harry. Fear. "I understand you filed a complaint against him with the Ministry a year back."

Fear, more fear. She stood up alarmingly fast, spilling the tea over her carpet. "I don't have anything to do with him!" she cried. "I haven't seen anyone from the Magical World, not since I was in Azkaban. Why can't you people just leave me alone?"

She broke down sobbing. Despair, despair welled within her and she fell to her knees. Harry set down his cup of tea, and pulled out his wand. Tapping the carpet where the tea had spilled, he muttered a spell and his wand began siphoning up the tea. Penelope winced at the sight of magic being performed, but Harry resolutely avoided looking at her. Magical Britain had destroyed this woman.

When her sobs slowed in frequency, he bent down to sit on the floor next to her. "No one is blaming you for his death," he said gently. "We think we know who's responsible for it. We just need your help tracking her down."

She looked up at him, still sniffling. He helped her get back up on her couch. "What do you want to know," she asked at last.

"Have you ever been in contact with a Lisa Turpin?" he asked.

She furrowed her brow. "No, I don't think so," she said at last.

"I see," said Harry. He brought out a photograph of Turpin that was taken when she was put in the Ministry holding cell. "Do you recognize this lady?"

Penelope took the photograph from him with trembling hands.

"She looks familiar," she said. "Like I might have seen her before, but I can't imagine where. I feel like I should know - it's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't say it ..."

Harry pulled out his wand. "May I perform a diagnostic charm on you, Ms Spencer?" he asked. She hesitated, but then nodded. He whispered a spell and, as he expected, she glowed blue. "I think you have a memory charm on you," he whispered. "Hang on ..."

"Leglimens," he whispered. The witch had no occlumency barriers so it was easy to get in. Images floated in front of him, images and memories of things he reminded her of. Things she had read about Harry Potter, images of Elphias Doge, images of her former husband, but Harry ignored them all. He dove deep, following instinct, pulling himself towards an unnaturalness he felt, a kind of dark knot ... It was a hastily done knot, and Harry had dealt with some far more complicated. He tugged on it with his magic and it came loose. Penelope screamed in pain, and he withdrew from her mind.

She was on the floor again, panting, holding her head and moaning.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "Do you have a headache potion I can fetch for you? It should help ..."

She shook her head. "There's some tylenol in the cabinet about the microwave. Could you ...?"

"Of course." He stood up and walked over to the cabinet and took out the jar. He also procured a glass and filled it with water for her.

"Thank you," she accepted gratefully. She swallowed the pills and took a swig of the water. "I remember now," she said. "A woman came to me, but she wasn't the one in your picture. I remember because I remember what I had forgotten. She said she had heard I was mistreated by the Ministry and she wanted to help."

Her hand shook violently. Harry took the glass from her hands lest she spill it.

"She offered to help, but I told her I wasn't interested. What was done was done - I didn't want anything to do with the magical world. But she insisted - even if nothing could be done for me, she said, she wanted to hear my side of the story. It might help the same from happening to other Muggleborns.

"That's what convinced me. No one should have to go through what I went through, Mr Potter. No one should be offered a bit of gold for having their life ruined and be expected to walk away happy. I loved my husband," she whispered, "and they took that away from me. They took my poor Wallace away."

"Did you tell this lady your story then?" asked Harry.

"Yes," she answered. "I told her how Elphias Doge fed him a love potion and made him chase after that tramp, and then tricked me into sleeping with him. I told her how the Ministry offered me a paltry 25 galleons when I wanted Elphias Doge arrested and tossed into Azkaban. If someone had given him a love potion, they would've gotten life in Azkaban, you know? The charge is line theft if you're a Pureblood - for us lowly Muggleborns, it's only Misuse of a Magical Potion. And for Muggles? A simple Muggle-baiting charge that has a 50 galleon fine. Pathetic.

"Anyway, I trusted her, but she was just another witch who betrayed me. When I had finished, she pointed her wand at me and apologized, and wiped my memory, and left. I remember feeling dazed and confused, with no idea why."

"Do you remember what this witch looked like?" asked Harry.

Penelope nodded. "She was Muggleborn, that's for sure. Dressed like a Muggle - even her wand was in her purse. She had brown, bushy hair, brown eyes, Caucasian skin tone. She was definitely younger than me - around your age, I think, give or take a few years, and maybe an inch shorter than you."

Definitely not Turpin then, Harry mused. Lisa Turpin had jet back hair, and she was taller than him. Nor Klein - Klein was far older than them both. So was there a third party involved? How did this witch fit in? "Did she give a name?"

"Yes," said Penelope wryly. "But I think we both know it wasn't her real name. She called herself Jane, didn't give a last name."

An extraordinary sense of foreboding filled Harry. It couldn't be. Could it? He got up.

"That's very helpful. Thank you for your time, Ms Spencer," he said suddenly. She shook his hand politely and walked him to the door. Right before he crossed the doorstep, he hesitated. "Is there anything I can do for you, Ms Spencer? I know the Magical World has been unkind to you, but if there's anything I could do, let me know."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't come back, Mr Potter," she said in a hushed voice. "No offense intended - you've only been polite to me - but your world is incredibly unkind to people with a Muggle heritage."

"Are you in touch with anyone from Hogwarts?"

She shook her head. "My Muggleborn friends were similarly driven away from the Magical World, or are only nominally part of it. I had some Pureblood and Half-blood friends at Hogwarts, but none close enough to stick their necks out for me. I'm better off in the Muggle World. Please let me live in peace here."

It broke his heart to hear her say that. He had no idea how deep prejudice ran in the Wizarding World.

"Of course Ms Spencer. Have a lovely day, and feel free to owl me if you need anything from me," he said politely.

"Good day Mr Potter," she said, shutting the door behind him. He looked at the neighbourhood around him, and again the sea of Muggle normalcy and uniformity nauseated him. Not bothering to get out of sight, he disapparated with a muffled crack.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

While Harry was walking into Penelope Spencer's house, Daphne had recounted the Conner case, how Turpin had escaped, how she and Potter had tracked her down to Ynys Mon, and Turpin's most recent involvement in the death of Elphias Doge to the Wizengamot. When she had finished, she stood silently and waited for the Wizengamot members to ask their questions.

The first one came from a Traditionalist Lord - was it Flint's father? - but it was more of a comment than a questions.

"Auror Greengrass," he said, frowning. "It seems from your testimony that this isn't a case of rouge Death Eaters attacking Liberal leaders, as Madam Bones would have us believe."

Daphne shook her head. Madam Bones was blushing lightly, but Daphne ignored her. "Madam Bones hadn't been debriefed about the Doge case until now. Before this latest piece of evidence, we had thought that this might indeed be a case of rouge Death Eaters."

"Aha," said Lord Flint, but he wasn't looking at Daphne. "Perhaps our dear Liberal friends ..."

He was interrupted by Amos Diggory banging his mallet on the Chief Warlock's podium. "Let's not waste Auror Greengrass' time, Lord Flint," he said coolly. "This is a criminal investigation foremost."

Flint gave Diggory a venomous glare. Diggory had been a solid Liberal before being elected as Chief Warlock. He was not known to be unbiased, but Daphne knew the Wizengamot after the War had been strongly Liberal enough to override any Traditionalist concerns.

"If I may," said Daphne cautiously, "it seems like Turpin has engaged in what she believes to be acts of justice - she's attacking people she believes to have wronged Muggleborns like herself."

"And do you believe she is right," sneered Lord Flint.

Daphne schooled her face into an expression of disinterest. "It's not my place, Sir," she said. Lord Flint gave her an approving look.

"We should at least have an investigation into why Turpin believed these Muggleborns have been wronged," said a diminutive man wearing Liberal robes.

"Absolutely not," roared Draco Malfoy, incensed. Daphne was startled - she thought Malfoy tended to observe in Wizengamot discussions, but not partake. He was considered too young. She noticed several prominent Liberal Lords giving exasperated looks to the diminutive man - she suspected they would have wanted to proposal to be announced by a member with higher standing. "Think about what you are doing," continued Malfoy. "This body cannot encourage Turpin's vigilantism. If she gets it into her head that Wizengamot will investigate those that she attacks, none of us will be safe in our beds!"

"Agreed," said Lord Flint. "Conner was a member of the Wizengamot, the same as any of us, and so was Elphias Doge. Both are old Pureblood houses, and the Conner Line is ended, for all intents and purposes. None of us are safe! Turpin is not a wronged witch who must be understood, she is a criminal who must be destroyed by any means necessary." His eyes glinted. "I move that the Wizengamot authorize Madam Bones' team to use deadly force to incapacitate Turpin."

Hushed mutterings filled the hall, and Daphne realized there was a lot of agreement behind the two Traditionalist Lords. Some of the newer Liberals were nodding their heads, and Daphne wondered - perhaps hoped - if they might not be swayed back to the Traditionalist agenda if Traditionalist power started growing.

"I second that motion," rumbled Lord Higgs - Terrence Higgs, a Seventh Year during her First Year, Daphne believed. His father was a Death-Eater who had fallen in the War, but Terrence Higgs was unblemished as far as anyone knew.

"All in favour?" asked Chief Warlock Diggory, with an expression of disgust on his face. Daphne was incredulous - how could such a clearly biased man be allowed to be Chief Warlock? Even Dumbledore, who was staunchly liberal, respected both sides while he was up on the podium.

The majority of the hall raised their wands. There was a sizable minority of Liberals who kept their wands down, but the motion passed with at least a two-thirds majority. Given that the Wizengamot was two-thirds Liberal, Daphne thought it was an incredible achievement by Lords Malfoy and Higgs - both young, Traditionalist Lords - to get a motion passed in such a Wizengamot.

"Madam Bones," said the Chief Warlock, "please instruct your team to use any and all means to apprehend or incapacitate the criminal, Lisa Turpin."

"Understood, Chief Warlock," said Madam Bones, getting up to take her leave. Daphne bowed her head in respect to the Wizengamot and followed her boss out of the chamber. She wondered if Turpin knew that her actions might have broken the grip of the Liberal party on the Wizengamot and potentially harmed the prospects of the very Muggleborns she was trying to protect.

Magic, Daphne mused, had a way of balancing itself.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	6. Nightmare at the Notts

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 6: Nightmare at the Notts **

It was several days later that the Department of Mysteries was finally able to spare a Warding expert to discuss the questions Potter and Daphne had about Ynys Mon and the Repulsion Ward. They were sitting in their office - it was a small office already, and the Unspeakable's presence made it feel stifling. He was hooded and cloaked, as all Unspeakables are, and it unnerved Daphne to not be able to look the man in the eye. Not only that, his raspy voice set Daphne on edge.

"So," he said in his raspy voice. "You want to know why someone was able to construct a Repulsion Ward on Ynys Mon when your tracking spell failed?"

"Yes," said Potter.

"Well, I can't tell you that," said the man calmly.

Daphne flew up in a fit of anger. They had just spent the better part of an hour explaining the situation to the Unspeakable, only to hear him say that. "Why can't you tell us?" she demanded.

The man didn't move. She couldn't see his face, so there were no facial expressions she could cue off of.

"I can't tell you because I don't know," he said. She sat back down, confused. "Ynys Mon has a magic that is wild. It has a life of its own. Do you understand how people say Hogwarts has a life of its own, because of a thousand years' worth of children who learned Magic in its halls?"

The pair nodded. Everyone who had gone to Hogwarts had felt at times helped or hindered by the magical castle.

"Ynys Mon was the Hogwarts of its time. It was a Hogwarts for at least four thousand years - possibly more, because those are the earliest records we. On top of that, Druidic Magic is a magic that no one today understands, because it was lost soon after Merlin. Ynys Mon is imbibed with that Magic. Traditional, Roman-style magic behaves erratically on Ynys Mon - the more so as you get closer to the magical center of the Isle, or to the old battle site at Menai."

"But isn't Magic the same, regardless of where you are?" asked Potter.

The Unspeakable shook his head. "Magic is ambient in your surroundings. When you use magic, it doesn't come from within you - you pull it from your surroundings. Think of yourself as a wand that channels the magic in your surroundings. Once you channel magic in a certain way, it gets easier for you to channel magic in that way, but it also gets easier for magic to be channeled in that way again.

No magicals have lived on Ynys Mon since the island fell to the Romans. The ambient magic on the island is still the same as when the Druids were massacred."

"But then how were the Romans who attacked Ynys Mon able to overpower the Druids?" asked Potter, his brow furrowed.

This time it was Daphne who answered, "That's why the Romans brought Muggle armies. They didn't trust their Magic to not fail them close to Ynys Mon. Not to mention the traitor Druid Shannara helped weaken the Druidic magic."

"Indeed," agreed the Unspeakable. "It's possible that your tracking charm failed because on Ynys Mon, your body isn't able to channel magic the way it can on the rest of the British Isles. Or it might be that the Repulsion Ward is simply more similar to the way Druidic Magic behaves as compared to tracking charms. Nobody knows much about Druidic magic, so no one can say."

The door to their office opened and a purple airplane memo flew in and deposited itself on the Unspeakable's lap. He unfolded it and read its contents.

"I'm afraid you must excuse me," he said in his raspy voice. "There is an urgent matter that requires my attention; but I have a question for you to direct your search towards." He paused and looked at them with an intensity that made Daphne ever more uncomfortable. "If even the Department of Mysteries with its decades of research knows barely anything about Ynys Mon, how is a rag-tag group of Muggleborns comfortable enough there to use it as a safe zone?"

And with that, he swept out of their office, leaving the two Aurors to look at each other wordlessly.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Their next step, Daphne had declared, was to set up a rotating shift around that clearing. She had acquired an Invisibility Cloak from the Department, and she and Potter were to take turns staking out the Clearing in the hopes of stumbling across Turpin or Klein, or the third unnamed accomplice Penelope Spencer had revealed. Potter had wanted to take down the Repulsion Ward and actually investigate the Clearing, but Daphne had overruled him. She didn't want the Muggleborns to think they had generated enough interest from the Ministry to warrant a team of wardbreakers swarming through the forest.

After a few nights of fruitless waiting, Potter stumbled across an ingenious solution - during his last shift he had been experimenting with various perimeter wards, and he finally found one that didn't fail within a few hours on Ynys Mon. He cast it around the Clearing so that if anyone tripped the Ward, he would be notified immediately. The ward still had to be renewed every 24 hours or so - and Daphne was a little uncomfortable doing Roman magic on the Isle, but she figured the Muggleborns were doing much more magic than that there.

She still had trouble believing that Turpin would defile such a traditionally honoured ground as Ynys Mon, but that was why, she thought in her darker thoughts, Muggleborns needed to be kept out of the upper levels of society where they might influence the direction of their world. Daphne wasn't prejudiced by any means. She knew Muggleborns could be as powerful magically as Purebloods - she had gone to school with Hermione Granger and Gregory Goyle - but she knew that Muggleborns had trouble honouring Magic and their way of life. This was the case in point.

She walked into their office that morning to find Potter lookng exhausted.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked, looking at him critically. There were bags under his eyes, and his clothing was dishevelled. She was pretty sure he hadn't even tried to comb his notoriously messy hair that morning.

"Perimeter ward was tripped around midnight," he grunted.

She was instantly alert. "And?"

"Nothing," he sighed. "I used the Portkey to get there instantly, of course, but there was nothing there. The ward was gone. I figured it might have been a magical animal, but to be safe, I set up the ward again and staked out the clearing. At 5AM, the ward was tripped again, but again, I couldn't find the source."

He took a swig of his coffee - it must've been very strong coffee because Daphne could smell it all the way over at the door.

"Not even a magical animal?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "But then I came in this morning, and that happened." He gestured over to her desk, and she saw an opened purple memo on it. It was addressed to her and Potter. She felt faint as her eyes skimmed over it. Cantankerous Nott, the Traditionalist Lord was dead. Killed in his own home.

"Shit," whispered Daphne.

Potter nodded grimly. "Shit is right. I've been waiting for you to come in so we can go over to his house and investigate."

"Come along then," she said crisply, in part because she had no desire to run into Madam Bones and get hauled into her office for a dressing down. She hurried towards the lifts, walking a little faster than usual, and Potter was a little slower than usual in catching up.

She wondered why Potter had been unable to find what had tripped his perimeter ward - it had to be Turpin or an accomplice, given the timeline of the attack on Lord Nott. Potter had seen nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing. His magic was strong enough that if something magical had been happening, he would have felt it. Even Druidic Magic, while foreign to them, could be felt by magic users who were strong enough.

They rode the lift in silence. Potter didn't seem to be in a mood to talk, but their silence was companionable. Daphne found herself reflecting on their relationship. She had to admit, having him as a partner wasn't that bad, and he wasn't an insufferable Gryffindor like she had feared., Aside from his one faux pas with Turpin, he was professional and competent. She didn't think they were friends by any means - their relationship was purely professional - but an Auror's relationship with their partner wasn't a typical professional relationship. In order to be effective, there had to be a level of deep trust, the likes of which was shared normally by exceptionally close friends. Not that Daphne thought she and Potter were at that level yet - they had only worked together for a few weeks yet - but the idea didn't seem as completely foreign and unrealistic to her as it had during her lunch with Tracey Davis.

They flooed to Nott Manor, and Daphne noted with pride that Potter landed on his feet. She had made him take the floo a dozen times until he had perfected the art of not falling over. He wasn't as smooth as her, but at least he wasn't embarrassing her any more.

A house-elf was waiting for them in the sitting room. It was a poor, dull thing - the Notts had never been accused of kindness - with a dirty, ragged pillowcase draping its thin body. There were bandages on its fingers and its right eye was swollen. Its left ear was missing - it had been chopped clean off with a sharp weapon.

Cantankerous Nott lived with his son, Theodore, a housemate of Daphne's. His wife had died fighting for the Dark Lord Voldemort. Cantankerous had escaped the war trials because he was much too old to fight for the Dark Lord in the Second War. He had the Dark Mark on his forearm for sure - but the Ministry had been unable to bring charges against him because he had been cleared for all crimes during the First War, and they hadn't been able to pin anything on him during the Second.

Hadn't been able to and likely not wanted to, thought Daphne wryly. Even with the heavily Liberal Wizengamot, the Notts were a family old enough, powerful enough, and rich enough that the Liberals thought of them as a necessary evil.

"Good morning," said Potter kindly. "What's your name?"

She looked around bewildered. There was no one present. Who could Potter be talking to? It took her a few moments to realize Potter was talking to the house-elf.

The elf looked as confused as her. Potter was holding out his hand - his hand! - to a house-elf! The poor thing was looking at his hand in abject terror, shrinking away from it. Normally Daphne thought herself as reasonably tolerant of Potter's muggle-raised ways, but this was just ridiculous. She was grateful no family members were around to witness this.

"Tipsy ... Sir," stuttered the elf. "Tipsy's name ... is Tipsy."

"Let me handle this, Potter," she cut in. "Elf, what happened last night when your master was attacked?"

"Tipsy does not know," cried Tipsy shamefacedly. "Tipsy wasn't able to protect Master. Master ordered Tipsy to stay in icebox till morning. Tipsy wasn't able to leave when Master started screaming."

Daphne was disgusted. While only nominally so, house-elves were sentient. One didn't talk to them like to a Wizard - the way Potter did - but you didn't order house-elves to torture themselves! It was a habit of the very darkest families, Daphne mused. The Malfoys tended to torture their house-elves, but since her sister Astoria married Draco Malfoy and became Lady Malfoy, it had been phased out. The Blacks, of course, were famous for stuffing and mounting the heads of their dead house-elves.

"Can you take us to where Master was attacked, Tipsy?" asked Potter gently. Tipsy edged away from him. It was obvious Potter's politeness terrified her.

"Yes Sir," she muttered. "Follow Tipsy, please."

The elf led them out of the living room and into a hallway. The Manor wasn't as large as Conner Castle, but it was exuded an ambient magic that touched at Daphne even when she wasn't sending out feelers with her magic. She felt awed and terrified - and she wondered if the Notts hadn't put up mood-altering wards for their guests. It would be quite ingenious if they had.

They went up the grand staircase and towards the Master Bedroom. What they saw inside made Daphne throw up her breakfast. Cantankerous Nott had been cut clean in half.

Potter was able to hold it in, but he looked terribly green. The elf was sniffling inconsolably.

"I just saw him a week ago in the Wizengamot," she found herself saying. Potter leaned over and squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. Ordinarily she would have flinched, but in the moment she was glad for the human touch.

They inched warily towards the bed. On the bedside table - as expected - they found a fine wood powder, along with a note. "There is a secret outhouse in the woods behind the Manor," it read. It was the same hasty scrawl that had led them to Penelope Spencer.

Daphne let Potter cast the diagnostic charms on the room.

"Nothing," he said. "Just the cutting curse on Nott - it matches Turpin's magical signature - and the Rune that destroyed the wand."

"Let's go check out this outhouse," she said. She was a little fast in exiting the room, and she didn't care if Potter noticed. Daphne had seen her fair share of blood and gore in the Giant and Werewolf wars, but nothing like this. It was so simple, and so ... cruel. A man sliced in half. A man Daphne knew.

"Elf," said Daphne, pushing such thoughts from her mind. "Can you take us to this outhouse?"

"Master ... Master has forbidden ..." whispered the elf.

"Master is dead," said Daphne harshly. The elf let out a wail, and instantly Daphne felt regret. "Who is your new Master, Tipsy?"

"Tipsy ... Tipsy does not know yet," sniffed the elf between sobs. "New Master has not come to claim Tipsy."

"Why would Theo need to claim you?" she frowned. "He's immediate family ..."

Tipsy interrupted her with a loud wail.

"Tipsy," said Potter. "If your new Master hasn't forbidden it, could you take us to the outhouse?"

Tipsy looked hesitant for a moment, and then she finally nodded. Sniffling and muttering to herself, she led them through the kitchens and out to the back of the Manor. The Nott estate was huge, and it took a good ten minutes of brisk walking for them to reach the edge of the woods. Daphne was pleased to see that Potter wasn't panting from exertion the way he would have been a few weeks ago. His physical training had done him at least some good.

The outhouse was a small shack. Daphne hadn't noticed it at all until Tipsy had led them right to its doorstep. She prodded at the wards around the outhouse with her magic and was unsurprised to feel heavy layers of secrecy and privacy wards.

"Hold on Greengrass," said Potter. "There are some blood wards in there."

She noticed a small basin jutting out. There was a sharp point on protruding rock - blood needed to be given to enter this shack.

"Elf," she said sternly. "Please bring us a few drops of Lord Nott's blood."

The elf popped away, and Potter frowned at Daphne. "Why are you so unkind to her?" he asked. "She has feelings too, the poor thing is traumatized."

"Yes," agreed Daphne. "And you are traumatizing her more." He looked at her in askance. "Did you notice how she flinches and retreats from you when you talk to her? She definitely has bad memories of being talked to politely."

He looked shocked. Clearly he thought she was being primitive and ignorant - classic Muggle-raised thinking, she snorted. A house-elf wasn't a friend, because a master and a servant are not friends. One serves the other, and throwing friendship into the mix complicated things. There was a reason things were the way they were.

The elf popped back with a vial containing a few drops of Lord Nott's blood. The blood was clotted and congealed, but blood was blood. She tapped out a few drops on the stone basin. With a heave and a rumble, the wards melted away to allow them entry and the door swung open.

The outhouse was small, but when they went inside, all they saw was a series of steps going underground. Daphne cast _Lumos_ to light her wand, and led the way downstairs. The air was musty and unclean. The steps themselves were coated with cobwebs, and every step they took sent a small group of spiders scurrying away from them.

The staircase was long and winding, but when they finally reached its base, the unclean smell Daphne had smelt earlier resolved into something she was very familiar with - it was the smell of death. She raised her wand cautiously and the light spread around the room. They were in a dungeon - set of holding cells. The first cell on their left was empty, but for a few skeletons - actual skeletons, shining brightly white as though they had been polished. Besides her, Potter flinched.

In the next cell, there was a corpse. A quick Alohomora let them inside the cell. Daphne checked for a pulse, but there was none. The corpse was female She couldn't tell if the woman had been Magical or Muggle, but there was no wand. Blood was clotted and congealed over her face, and her blonde hair was matted with blood and grime and sweat. On instinct Daphne pried the woman's legs apart. What she saw made her gag - the woman had been ravaged and raped in an inhumane way. She had fought in the Werewolf Wars, but even so she knew this day would haunt her nightmares for ages to come. No amount of experience prepared you to see something like this.

The next cell was filled with a set of corpses - a male, a female and a child. The male had its throat slit open, and its limbs were dismembered. The female and child - she couldn't have been older than 8 - bore marks of rape.

The next few cells were empty, or they had only skeletons in them. Daphne felt her head begin to pound. She wanted nothing more than to be away from this vile place of death. But still - she was an Auror and she had to do her due diligence.

There was one more cell left. The door creaked open with a quiet Alohomora. She raised her wand and the light spread across the room. What she saw made her cry out in fear and leap toward Potter, clutching him. For once she didn't care about dignity and decorum. She didn't care that Potter was, well, Potter, and that she was his leader. She just wanted to feel something alive.

Hanging before them was the corpse of Theodore Nott. He was stark naked, and like Count Conner, his genitals had been cut off and stuffed in his mouth. Nailed into his chest was a note - "_Done unto him was what he had done unto others_."

Daphne fled, with Potter close on her heels. Nothing, nothing could have prepared her for that. Now she understood why the elf had been unsure of her new Master. Theodore Nott was dead. The line of Nott was ended. Daphne felt an incredible rage rise in her chest against those that had done this to him, but it was muted by the rest of what she had seen.

Her housemate - Theodore Nott, Theo - was a monster. He had had a cruel streak even in Hogwarts, now that she thought about it. She remembered one night in the Slytherin Common Room very vividly - he had been boasting about casting a Fever Hex on a Hufflepuff Muggleborn. She hadn't thought much of it at the time but the Muggleborn had stayed in the Hospital Wing for a full week, recovering. And then there was the time he had tossed batwing into Longbottom's potion. The potion reacted adversely enough that it would have exploded and killed Longbottom, had it not been for Professor Snape's timely intervention. No, there was no denying it. Theo Nott might have been calm, polite and unassuming with his Pureblooded peers - but with those he considered beneath him, he was incredibly vicious and sadistic.

She stepped outside and breathed the fresh air deeply. It made her feel a little better, but every time she closed her eyes, Theo Nott's naked, castrated body flashed in front of her. Not even wanting to waste time trekking back to the Manor, she made her way to the edge of the wards, intending to apparate once she was past them. Right as they crossed the wards, Potter stopped. She turned around to look at him questioningly. He had turned ghostly pale.

"What?" she asked.

"How did Turpin cross the wards?" he asked. "The Nott residence has some incredible wards. You felt them as we crossed the ward line. How did Turpin make it through and in secret?"

"Maybe she flooed in?" suggested Daphne.

He shook his head. "The floo was opened for us. No, she came in another way. Come here."

She walked over to where he was standing. Gingerly he stepped towards the wards and tapped his wand at something in the empty air. Immediately a huge burst of colour swirled, like the rainbow colours on a soap bubble, rendering the wards visible.

Not far from where they had exited the wards, Daphne saw, was a visible tear in the wards, about the size of a human. No colour swirled there. Potter raised his wand and cast a Stunning spell at the tear. It went straight through. Then he cast another spell at a portion where the wards were intact. This time the Stunner clanged onto the wards and ricocheted back towards him. He dove into the ground to avoid it.

"What sort of magic is this?" gasped Daphne.

"I don't know," said Potter grimly. "But I bet it has something to do with Ynys Mon."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	7. The Bridge of Menai

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 7: The Bridge of Menai **

The attack on the Notts had caused an uproar in Magical Britain. The Daily Prophet had covered nothing else for the past week, and the Turpin case had captured the imagination of the Wizarding World. Some of the less-blooded sections of society tried to paint her as a crusader fighting to avenge them, but the the more Pureblooded sections were painting her as the next Dark Lady. The viciousness of the attack on the Notts seemed to have sealed this in their minds, and Traditionalists and Liberals alike where demanding that Turpin be captured and brought to justice. Somehow, the fact that the Notts had a secret torture chamber in which they tortured and raped Muggles and Muggleborns never made it to the Prophet. Even in death, the Notts had powerful supporters.

Some idiot Auror had leaked that Turpin had had accomplices, and now there was talk all over Britain that Turpin had begun to gather followers, much like You-Know-Who in the 1970's, it was whispered. In that War, the lines were drawn between a subset of extremist Traditionalists vs Albus Dumbledore's Liberal allies, but this time Purebloods and even Halfbloods from every corner of society were banding together to denounce the attacks.

Daphne's lips curled as she thought of this - even the threat of the Dark Lord had failed to unite Wizarding Society in the manner that Turpin had succeeded. By attacking Conner and Doge - two staunch Liberals from Light families - and extinguishing two Pureblood lines, Turpin had all but ensured that she had no support in greater Wizarding Society. Oh sure, there were a bunch of ragtag Muggleborns threatening to seek out and join Turpin in her "cause" but those were disgruntled members of society with little power or influence. If they started to pose an actual threat, they would be put down.

With Death-Eater activity down at its lowest point since the War, and Magical Britain having returned to some semblance of normalcy, Madam Bones was under immense pressure from the Wizengamot and the Wizarding public that Turpin be caught and brought to justice. Unwilling to let Turpin know they had a lead on her, Madam Bones had directed most of the Auror force to a wild goose chase across the country. Meanwhile, she had tasked Daphne and Potter to figure out what was going on in Ynys Mon.

Unfortunately, Daphne thought, they had no leads. She had turned again to the Department of Mysteries to help her find out what sort of magic had torn through the wards at the Nott estate, but they claimed to be clueless. When Daphne and Potter had taken an Unspeakable to where they had seen the tear, there was nothing to be found there. It was as if the tear had mended itself. They had then been politely informed by the Unspeakable that his time was valuable, and he would appreciate it if the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would stop wasting it.

A part of her wondered - and the back of her neck prickled as she thought of this - whether Turpin might not have rediscovered some lost, Druidic magic. She pushed that thought from her mind - the Druids hadn't written anything down. There was no way Turpin could have discovered anything about them. She was a Muggleborn too, so she had no secret family magics either. But then where did that tear come from?

She was currently sitting in her office with her partner, Harry Potter, and playing catch with the remains of a purple airplane memo Daphne had captured on her way to the office that morning. It was some inane complaint about the plumbing in the men's bathroom on some floor - nothing important.

Potter seemed distant that day - as though he were lost in his thoughts. The perimeter ward had not been tripped since the attack on the Notts. She tossed the paper ball back at him, and it hit him cleanly on the head - he hadn't seen it coming.

"How you were Seeker for seven years, I'll never understand," observed Daphne. "What's on your mind, Potter?"

"Why do you call me Potter?" he asked. Daphne snorted at him. That was obviously not what was worrying him, but she answered him anyway.

"Because you never asked me to call you anything else," she said mildly. "It's common etiquette to use the last name unless requested otherwise - surely you knew that?"

"I didn't," he said grumpily. He looked a little miffed - he didn't like it when she brought attention to his Muggle upbringing.

"Do you want me to call you by your given name?" she asked him.

He paused and considered it. "I suppose. It would make sense, wouldn't it? We've been through quite a bit already, and I would call you a friend."

His ears turned pink - his self control over his body was incredibly low, thought Daphne, amused.

"Very well, Harry," she said, savouring his name on her tongue. It felt strange, and exciting. She had not had too many friends in her life - allies and acquaintances she had plenty of, but very few friends. Tracey Davis was one of them - she wondered what Tracey would say if she found out Harry Potter was calling her a friend.

Suddenly, a mischievous thought came to her - she was supposed to have her weekly lunch with Tracey that day. What if she brought Pot... Harry along? She laughed delightedly at the thought of Tracey's reaction.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she giggled. "Do you want to go grab some lunch?"

"Aren't you going with Tracey today?" he asked.

She gave him an odd look.

"Davis," she correctly gently. "You can call me Daphne, but until Tracey invites you to call her by her given name, you should address her as Davis."

He blushed. "But I'm not addressing her, though," he countered.

"Perhaps not," she conceded. "But it will be easier for you to slip up to her face if you call her Tracey in private."

"Makes sense," he nodded thoughtfully, and Daphne was pleased. She wished more Muggleborns could be like Potter ... Harry, and more accepting of Wizarding culture. Harry was certainly ignorant - but if she brought his mistakes to light, he usually did a good job of trying to correct them. With a snort, she remembered her first Ancient Runes class where Granger had promptly introduced herself as "Hermione" and inquired if she was "Daphne." Daphne hadn't thought very highly of the Muggleborn after that.

The pair made their way out of their office and towards the Ministry fireplaces in silence. That was another good thing about Harry - their silences were very companionable, and they gave her time to think. When she didn't have time to think, she became flustered and tongue-tied. Merlin, she shuddered. She hated that feeling of being unable to say what she wanted.

Tracey was already sitting down at their usual table at the restaurant when Daphne and Harry got there. Her back was towards the fireplace, so Daphne grinned up at Harry as the two sidled up to where Tracey was sitting.

"Hey Tracey," said Daphne nonchalantly.

"Hey Daph," began Tracey, turning around to greet her. "How's it ... " words failed her here as she caught sight of Harry. Her jaw dropped and she glared at Daphne.

"I brought Harry along for lunch," said Daphne cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind, he's been wanting to meet you."

"Not at all," said Tracey, looking like she, as a matter of fact, minded very much.

"Pleased to meet you, Davis," said Harry with a smile. Attaboy, thought Daphne.

"Likewise," said Tracey, not looking at him, and instead continuing to glare at Daphne with an unsettling intensity. Daphne squirmed in her seat.

It ended up being a fairly awkward lunch. Tracey wasn't as amused as Daphne had hoped, and she said little. Harry took his cue from Daphne and elected to not speak unless spoken to. Daphne didn't blame him - he obviously felt out of place - but it did leave her with a lot of silences to fill on her own. With Tracey occasionally still shooting venomous glances at her, these silences were decidedly short of comfortable.

It was close to the end of the lunch when Harry finally spoke unaddressed, and he directed himself at Tracey.

"So Davis," he said. "What is it that you do exactly."

Tracey looked taken aback, having not expected to be addressed, but she recovered quickly.

"I don't work a job, if that's what you're asking," she said coolly. Daphne winced. "But if you must know, I'm pursuing a Mastery in Herbology on the side."

"Ah," Harry nodded understandingly. "Are you friends with Neville Longbottom at all?"

Tracey perked up immediately. Longbottom was also pursuing his Mastery in Herbology, and Tracey had often despaired to Daphne about how the Longbottom heir would make a perfect husband, but was "too much of a Gryffindor" to ever consider her, a former Slytherin.

"Nominally," said Tracey, carefully. "We are studying under different Masters, but our Masters are friends."

"He was always good at Herbology," remembered Harry.

"He is," exclaimed Tracey, her face flushing. "He's bred a most exotic species that's a cross between a Mimbulus Mimbletonia and a ..." she faltered seeing Harry's blank expression, "but you're not interested are you."

Harry politely motioned for her to continue, but Daphne cut in ruefully, "I'm afraid I don't even know what a Mimbulus Mimbletonia is, Trace. Herbology was never my strong suite ..."

Tracey muttered something into her coffee, and changed the subject.

"You lot have got the Wizarding World in a bit of an uproar," she said casually. Perhaps she was subconsciously submitting to the disapproval of female Aurors in Pureblood circles, but Daphne noticed that the question had been directed towards Harry.

"It seems like we have," agreed Harry. "Unfortunately the Prophet only tells half the story ..."

Tracey's eyes sparkled, and Daphne kicked Harry under the table. He winced, but caught on and kept his mouth shut. Tracey turned to glare at Daphne. Daphne knew her friend well enough to know that she was fishing for information for her gossip circles. Perhaps Tracey could be persuaded to keep a secret if Daphne's reputation was on the line, but what did she care for Harry? Tracey was a true Slytherin - she would have no qualms sacrificing Potter's career for an interesting night of conversation at whatever ball she was attending next.

"Well," said Tracey, "at least Turpin is driving the Muggleborns out." She inspected her nails, carefully avoiding looking at Harry, whose hand had was inching towards his wand holster. "Draco tells me an unusual number of lower level clerks - Muggleborns and halfbloods mostly - have quit the Ministry. Ordinarily, he would've been glad, but so many of them leaving at once ... they're having quite a bit of trouble filling those spots - no Pureblood wants them ..."

"Where are those Muggleborns going?" asked Daphne curiously. She touched Harry's thigh under the table, and he gave her the barest of nods, indicating that he had understood and would let her drive the conversation. Tracey was enjoying Daphne's interest now, and her attention had left Harry.

"No one knows," she said dramatically. "They're disappearing overnight, families and all. The Wizengamot isn't pleased - they're debating a Bill, Draco says, that prevents Ministry workers from leaving without at least six months notice ..."

Harry snorted, unable to help himself. "And does the Wizengamot think that forcing people to work will make them actually do their work?"

Tracey looked at him disdainfully.

"It's not about making them do their work, Potter," she said scornfully. "It's about keeping them from running away."

"To where?"

"To Turpin, of course," declared Tracey. "Aren't you on this case? Surely you know Turpin is collecting an army?"

Daphne swore under her breath. They had imagined Turpin had allies, but they hadn't realized that the rumours were true and that she was actually gathering people to her side. How had she moved that fast? Was she in a position to convince so many Muggleborns to abandon their livelihood ands flee to her? What was she offering them?

It was with those thoughts that she got up and excused herself and Harry.

"We've got to go see Draco," she said, ignoring Harry's affronted look. "I'll see you next week, Tracey."

"Alone, I hope," grunted Tracey. "No offense Potter, but this is supposed to be my time with Daphne."

Harry shrugged in acknowledgement, but Daphne could recognize already that there would be no love lost between the two. It was a pity - Tracey was one of her older friends, and she was beginning to like Potter's company.

She bid her friend adieu with a hug, and returned with Harry to the Ministry. They had to go see Draco Malfoy.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Several hours later, Daphne found herself on the upper levels of the Ministry, just a floor below the Minister's office. Draco had some advisory position under the Minister. Until now, Daphne thought it was a made up position Draco had bought off, but she was just realizing that Draco was actually responsible for some of the policy that came out of the Minister's office. She shuddered - the Draco Malfoy she had known at Hogwarts was not the kind of person she wanted deciding the direction of her country. But, she mused, we couldn't choose our births. Nobility was born nobility.

Harry had, of course, begged off of this particular meeting. He was still a little chaffed from the meeting with Tracey which had been far more awkward than Daphne had anticipated. Amusing as the thought of seeing the Hogwarts rivals in the same room was, Daphne knew that having Harry there was more than likely to be unconstructive for the task at hand. Besides, she had a relationship with Draco Malfoy that she wasn't keen on advertising to Harry, lest that break the nascent trust they had developed.

Draco Malfoy was her brother-in-law.

She would have once shuddered at the thought, but she had to admit, they had married for love - or at least Draco had. As a daughter of the orphaned Greengrass line, Astoria was of a far lower station than the Malfoy line, even in its disgrace since the fall of the Dark Lord. She had not had a significant dowry to bring to the Malfoy coffers - depleted as they were after the war - and she brought no great political connections either.

She knocked on the door to his office, and hear a clear, "Come in."

Opening the door, she sidled inside with the grace of an experienced Auror. Her brother-in-law was sitting at his desk, shuffling through mounds of papers. He looked harried and the office was untidy, but the elegance she expected from a Malfoy still gleamed through the mess. The desk was obviously Malfoy's own - it was made of heavy oak, and the Malfoy signet was embossed on it. Two uncomfortable looking high-back chairs sat in front of the desk for any visitors - a very Slytherin move, Daphne thought. It was easier to maintain the upper hand over any guests, if you kept them just a little bit uncomfortable.

Draco looked up at her.

"Daphne!" he said, standing up to greet her. "Come, sit down."

She gave Draco a dutiful hug, as was proper for her sister's husband, and sat down, waiting for him to give her leave to speak.

"Tea?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

He scribbled a note on a piece of purple paper, and a few moments later, a purple airplane flew out of his office. They contemplated each other for a few seconds, until Draco opened the conversation.

"So tell me," he said in an amused voice. Daphne knew instantly where this was going. "How does Potter like being a common footsoldier?"

"He's an adequate Auror," responded Daphne, sharply. "You know if he wanted to, he could be sitting at the Wizengamot."

"Yes," said Draco coolly. "And the fact that he doesn't is a slap on the face for our world. Yet another slap from the Muggleborn and Muggle-raised."

Daphne had no answer to that. There was a knock on the door, and a harried looking clerk walked in, carrying a tray with a two teacups and a teapot. As was proper, Draco poured out Daphne's tea and offered it her. She accepted it with a murmured word of thanks.

"How is Astoria doing?" she asked, sipping her tea.

"Well," answered Draco. "She complains that you don't come visit often enough."

Daphne snorted internally. Maybe she would visit more often if Astoria didn't shove the Malfoy wealth under her nose every time she visited, or try and set her up with one of Malfoy's allies or minions.

"It's been busy at work," she said by way of an excuse. "I hear it has been busy with you as well."

"It has," he confirmed, gesturing towards the paperwork all over his desk. "Can you imagine me having to deal with all this? But Father says we must work to restore the family name in this new world. Sometimes I wish the Dark Lord had won, but then," he added gloomily, "I would rather deal with paperwork than the Cruciatus on a regular basis."

Daphne winced. Towards the end of the war, the Malfoys had attempted to pull away from the Dark Lord, but with disastrous results. The Dark Lord had held Narcissa hostage, confiscated Malfoy Manor and made it into his headquarters, and the two male Malfoys were forced to do his bidding on the threat of Narcissa's life. After the war, the courts had ruled that the Malfoys had fought on the Dark Lord's side under duress, but that hadn't stopped whispers from flowing that Lucius' gold had bought their freedom yet again. And who knew - perhaps it had. It didn't concern Daphne, so she didn't spend too much time thinking about it. She did know though, that the Malfoy heir was now sitting on the Wizengamot seat. Lucius wanted to present a new face of the Malfoy family to the world in the era following the Dark Lord.

"I came to talk to you because I heard reports of Muggleborns fleeing Magical Britain en masse," she said. "What can you tell me about that?"

He shuffled through the papers on his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment.

"There has been an increase," he admitted. "The Ministry doesn't keep track of whether Muggleborns 'live' in the Magical World, since it's such a murky line. Who do we call a citizen of the Magical World? Someone who has magic? If so, they've never left our world. Someone who performs magic? There's no clear way of telling who does magic and who doesn't. Someone who interacts with the Ministry? There are hundreds of Wizards and Witches who don't, some of them Pureblooded recluses."

"Then how can you tell that there has been an increase?" asked Daphne, marvelling at the fact that even Draco Malfoy had fallen in line with using the term 'Muggleborn' instead of Mudblood.

"Ministry employment," said Draco simply, handing her the parchment in his hand. Daphne took it from him, letting out a low whistle as she read it.

"That's a high turnover," she said.

"Yes," said Draco shortly. "About 50% of the employees of the Ministry have historically been Muggleborn, since the Dark Lord's first fall. A lot of them are clerks, maintenance staff, and the like. None of them are too high up in the Ministry of course - they simply don't have the connections to make it very high - but a lot of the lower staff is Muggleborn. After all, no self-respecting Pureblood will lower themselves to casting scouring charms in Ministry bathrooms all day, or filing paperwork for Apparition licenses."

Daphne couldn't help herself. "It looks like Muggleborns are essential to our society after all."

"I know that," he spat angrily. "The Malfoy family disavowed itself from the Dark Lord's rhetoric well before his defeat."

She raised her hands up in surrender. "Are these people disappearing without notice?"

"Some are, and some aren't," he said. "Some of them we've been able to bribe into staying with raises and bonuses - but Merlin knows how the Treasury will pay for them" - he waved another green-coloured parchment at her - "and with the increasing anti-Muggleborn rhetoric after Turpin's attacks, a fair number are citing safety as a reason for putting in their notice. Nobody wants to be cursed in the back."

"Is it that bad?" she frowned.

He picked up another parchment. "Let's see. One employee in the maintenance department was found with his head attached to a Ministry toilet. It took three days to get it detached, and even now there's a bit of ceramic stuck to his head. He walked out of the Ministry and never came back. We sent him a letter offering him recompense if he agreed to come back to his job, but the owl couldn't find him. The tracking charm on it failed as well ..."

"Hang on," interrupted Daphne. "The tracking charm failed?"

"Yes," said Draco. "Somewhere near Ynys Mon was how far it went, but we have no idea why the man would go to Ynys Mon - everyone knows it's a sacred place. Maybe he was staying with some Muggle family with there? The man was Welsh."

Daphne's heart beat wildly. Harry hadn't known, and he was Muggle-raised. Could it be that the Muggleborns didn't know? Could they be migrating there en masse? Could Turpin really be amassing an army?

"One clerk in the Department of Magical Games and Sports were found cursed," Draco continued. "He's still at St Mungo's, but at least four of his coworkers put in their notice and left after that. Ludo Bagman's not too worried to recover them - there are enough halfbloods willing to take up a job in that Department. We're more worried about the Goblin Liaison Office, for example. They had a Muggleborn clerk who had worked there for 40 years and knew more about that Department's affairs than anyone else. He's seen eight department heads in his time - no one wants to stay there for very long. He refused all offers of raises or promotions - apparently the Minister even considered offering him Department Headship, but that was shot down by an influential family - Liberal family, incidentally - that wanted a second son placed as the Head of the Department. In any case, the Ministry concocted up an excuse to arrest him for some misdemeanour he had committed a while back in order to entice him back, but when the Aurors showed up to arrest him, he had vanished with his entire family ..."

"But that's horrible," objected Daphne. "You can't arrest a Wizard just because he wants to leave his job."

"Perhaps," frowned Draco. "But the goblins haven't been this agitated since they last rebelled during the War with Grindelwald. This Muggleborn Wizard is the only one who knows the ins and outs of our dealings with them over the last 40 years. Would you rather strong-arm one Muggleborn into complying, or let him go and risk a Goblin Rebellion right on the heels of a Dark Lord?"

Daphne was forced to admit that his reasoning made sense, but she couldn't help but think that it was a thousand small instances of pushing Muggleborns around that had to led to the emergence of Lisa Turpin and this current state of affairs.

"It seems like Turpin has successfully polarized the Magical World," said Daphne thoughtfully.

"In a way that the Dark Lord himself failed," agreed Draco. "By going after established Liberal families first, she all but alienated them. The Traditionalists would obviously never side with her agenda. It's a masterstroke worthy of a Slytherin. With Liberal and Traditional families uniting to demonize the Muggleborns, they would be pushed out ... out towards her."

"If she's gathering followers, we need to hunt her down now," Daphne said. "We can't risk letting her gather strength and have another guerrilla group develop. Do you think you could give me a list of Muggleborns who have resigned from the Ministry since Turpin emerged?"

Draco nodded distractedly, pulling out a few pieces of parchment from various piles. With a quick Copying Charm, he duplicated them and handed them over to her.

"Drop by and visit Astoria soon," he said, as she got up to take her leave.

"I'll try," she promised, not really meaning to keep her promise. She had trouble dealing with Astoria in the best of times - with things going to hell in the Turpin case, this was decidedly not the best of times.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

While Daphne was out talking to Malfoy, Harry decided it was time to track down Hermione. She hadn't responded to any of his letters since he had gotten back to England - and while he didn't dare voice his suspicions out to Daphne, he was worried that she might be colluding with Turpin. Hermione was very capable witch who could very easily be behind the mysterious tear in the wards at the Notts - but he had trouble imagining his Hermione as someone who could murder the Notts so mercilessly. Could she have become such a person in the three years since he had seen her last? Harry sincerely hoped not.

The Muggle Library once again yielded information to Harry in its remarkably simple way. There was a Hermione Granger, Harry found, with a Muggle address located in the Isle of Anglesey. The address was unfamiliar, and Harry didn't know of any apparation spots near it so he would have to get to Hermione the Muggle way.

He memorized the address and walked over to a librarian, and asked her for directions. The librarian gave him a suspicious look, but printed out an itinerary for him. Harry groaned - it would take over four hours for him to get there. But then an idea struck him - ducking into a dark alley outside the library, he apparated back to his flat and fetched summoned his Invisibility Cloak, his Firebolt and a compass. Affixing the compass to his broom, he threw on the cloak and kicked off.

A rush of exhilaration ran through his body as he spiralled into the air and burst through the lowest hanging cloud. Air was his element. Clutching at the directions the librarian had given him, he glanced at his compass, took to a direction, and flew. An Impervious Charm on his glasses kept the wind from hitting his face, and he was able to accelerate to the broom's top speed of 300 kmph.

Within a half hour, he entered Wales, and in another 15 minutes, he had reached the coast of Wales. An island loomed ahead of him - Anglesey, he guessed. He bent forward, pushing his Firebolt even faster, when all of a sudden, his broom spluttered.

Then it began to lose height. With all his strength, Harry heaved the handle up decelerating so fast that he would have slipped off the broom, had he not thought to put his Quidditch gloves on. The broom continued to splutter dangerously, moving up and down dangerously, threatening to buck him off. He held on firmly, and guided the broom towards the nearest settlement he could see.

As he neared it, he realized he had been lucky - there was a bridge connecting to the island. Carefully ensuring his Invisibility Cloak was still on, he landed near the bridge, gingerly dismounting from the Firebolt, which was now emitting dangerous looking sparks. Ducking behind a tree, he removed his Invisibility Cloak and wrapped it around the Firebolt. Tucking them both under his arm, he emerged, and walked towards the road that led up to the bridge.

The summer sun was hot, and there weren't many cars around. The settlement he was in was small. He checked his wallet, and he had a good forty pounds on him - hopefully enough money to pay a cab, he thought. It was at least a half hour before one appeared, and Harry almost dropped his Firebolt in his haste to hail it.

"Where to, guv'nor?" asked the cabbie cheerfully. Harry was grateful for his cockney accent - he had anticipated something thickly Welsh in this smalltown. He handed the cabbie the directions the librarian had printed for him. "Ow, tha's not far. Jus' across the Bridge o' Menai."

Menai, Menai, why did that sound so familiar?

"How much will it be?" asked Harry. "I haven't got a lot of money."

The cabbie jabbed his finger at the meter. "Th' ol' girl will tell ya. Shouldn'ta be more'n 20 quid."

Harry got in the cab, and the cabbie revved up the engine and drove towards the bridge. The Firebolt sparked loudly.

"Wassa?" asked the cabbie suspiciously, eyeing the rearview mirror. Harry's leglimency detected hesitation and worry coming from the man.

"Nothing!" said Harry, fervently murmuring a Silencing Charm over his Invisibility Cloak. The broom started vibrating more and more intensely as the car entered the bridge. Harry cast a mild Confundus on the cabbie. What could possibly be wrong with the broom, he wondered? The closest experience he had had to this was in First Year when Professor Quirrell had hexed his Nimbus 2000.

He closed his eyes, and reached inwards towards his magical core. What he found there surprised him too - it felt ... threatened. And uncertain. He didn't know how else to describe it.

A dreadful suspicion rose in Harry.

"Sir," he called out to the cabbie. "Are there any other names for Anglesey?"

The cabbie chuckled. "Tourist, eh? Th' old timers'll call it Ynys Mon. Where y' from, laddie?"

But Harry made no move to answer his question. He was in Ynys Mon. He suddenly remembered where he had heard the name Menai before - the straits of Menai was where the Romans had fought the Druids and slaughtered them. He was likely passing very near the site of that battle - there was no other explanation for why his broom was reacting the way it was, and why his core felt so uneasy.

A loud thwack emerged from his broom. His silencing charm had failed. Desperately he recast it, and cast a slightly stronger Confundus on the cabbie.

How did Hermione live like this, he wondered, with the sense of unease and dysfunctioning magical devices. Did she ... did she want to live like this? Next to the place where British magic had been dealt a killing blow?

Suddenly Harry had a very strong feeling that his initial hunch had been correct.

Hermione had been behind the tear in the Notts' wards.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	8. Meeting Hermione

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Author's Note: **A few reviewers brought this up - though I haven't explicitly mentioned it so far, I generally disregard "Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows" while writing fanfiction – it allows for more creativity that way. What happened at the end of the war is irrelevant to this story, so I kind of just fuzz over it. Because of that, you may notice inconsistencies such as Harry's Firebolt still existing.

**Chapter 8: Meeting Hermione **

It was only when the Menai Bridge was firmly out of sight that Harry's Firebolt stopped vibrating and the unease he felt in his magic subsided. It was still there, lingering, but not nearly as overwhelming as it had been on the bridge, right next to the site of the Menai Massacre.

The cabbie took a few meandering turns - and right as Harry was beginning to think that his Confundus charms might have been too strong, he turned into a smallish street and pulled up next to a charming little cottage.

"'ere ye are, guv'nor," he said cheerfully.

Harry paid the man and exited the vehicle. There was a quaint, country air to this neighbourhood. Unlike the tightly-packed, nauseatingly uniform Surrey neighbourhood Harry had grown up in, the cottages on this lane were much more widely spaced. Each one seemed to express different characteristics - a few were messy, one was completely run down, a handful were trim and proper, and yet another was completely lopsided, not unlike the Burrow.

Hermione's, of course, was one of the neat and orderly ones. There was very little that Hermione did that wasn't neat and orderly. Harry doublechecked the address - he was at the right place. Gingerly, he reached out to his magic and was relieved to find that he could grasp it. There were a few wards in place, but none, he thought, that were exceptionally harmful. He zeroed in on one ward that felt familiar, and stepped over the ward line.

A feeling of unease settled over him, and before he knew it, he had turned around and stepped back over the ward line. Instantly, he recognized the ward for what it was - it was a Repulsion Ward, the same that he and Daphne had encountered at the clearing in the forest on Ynys Mon. Frowning, he directed his magic towards it, intending to overpower it ...

BOOM!

His magic reacted badly with whatever was powering the ward and he was flung backwards, onto the street.

The door of the cottage creaked open, and a bushy, brown head popped out and stared at him.

"Harry!" cried Hermione in delight. She rushed out onto the street and helped him up.

"Hello Hermione," he said shakily, letting her pull him into a deep hug. He wasn't ordinarily a physically affectionate person, but Hermione was someone he made an exception for. "It's good to see you."

"Oh, it's good to see you too, Harry!" she gushed, burying her face in his shoulder. "Won't you come in?"

He grunted. "Your ward scheme doesn't like me."

"My wards, keeping out the great Harry Potter?" she teased, and he glared at her good-humouredly. She reached out with her hand, and touched him lightly on the forehead, muttering a few words softly. "Come," she said, guiding him over the wards. They passed through with ease, and it was only when they passed the doorstep the Harry realized that she hadn't used a wand.

The inside of the cottage was as neat was the outside, but in a homely sort of a way. This was how Harry imagined the Burrow might look, if Mrs Weasley didn't have six boys to look after - seven if you counted Mr Weasley. The cottage opened up into a small living room, where a comfortable looking couch and two armchairs were facing a fireplace. The was no fire in the summer heat, and it looked like Hermione had the air conditioner on. The blast of cool air was pleasant after the sweltering heat outside.

An open kitchen was attached to the living room, and a wooden dining table with seats for four was off on one side. The kitchen was very Muggle - it even had a microwave. There was hardly any open wall space though - Hermione had lined the place with bookshelves, and to Harry's astonishment, the bookshelves were packed tightly with books. Had Hermione truly amassed so many books since entering Hogwarts?

"I kept them shrunk in my trunk," she said in amusement, guessing at the question forming on his lips. "My parents were generous with my allowance, and I spent most of it on mail orders to Flourish and Blotts. Tea?"

He nodded, and she busied herself setting a kettle on the stove. The stove was electric too, he noticed.

"Do you need help?" he asked Hermione, remembering his manners a little belatedly.

"Not at all," she said, taking the kettle off the stove. "I'm almost done."

She brought the tea and biscuits over, and Harry noticed that Hermione had already added in milk and sugar to his tea. He took a tentative sip - it was exactly how he liked it.

"I lived with you for seven years," she teased, again answering the question forming on his lips. "I know how you like your tea."

If Harry wasn't as confident in his occlumency shields as he was, he would have doublechecked them. They talked idly for a few minutes, about the hot summer weather, some of the Muggle amenities in her house, and what the Muggle Government was going into with Iraq, until Harry broached one of the more serious topics he wanted to talk about.

"So," he said, "why haven't you replied to my last two letters? It's been a month since I landed in Britain, and I haven't seen a response from you since."

She winced, gingerly setting down her cup of tea. "I didn't know what to say," she said morosely. "I ... I wanted to talk to you in person. But I didn't know how to approach you about it. And I definitely didn't want to go back to Magical Britain, so I just procrastinated ..."

"That's no excuse!" said Harry heatedly. Hermione winced, and he took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Why did you leave Magical Britain, Hermione?"

Her manner got a little colder. "What do you know?"

"Mrs Weasley told me that you were fired from your Ministry job after you refused to help with the Werewolf Wars, and you left Magical Britain soon after that."

She nodded. "Well, you know how my modified Lumos charm helped against the Vampire Wars, right? After that, the Wizarding public wanted another miracle against the Werewolves. Helping defeat a Dark Lord, and saving hundreds of lives from the Vampires wasn't enough for them," she said bitterly, "and the Ministry wanted to look like they were doing something to pressure me. They fired me for 'disorderly conduct unbefitting a Ministry employee'" - she put up air quotes as she said that - "and the Traditionalists in the government started spreading rumours that Hermione Granger was refusing to help fight the Werewolves ..."

"Did you refuse?" asked Harry.

"I refused to be part of a 'think-tank' that the Ministry created to look like they were doing something about the werewolf problem," she answered. "The think-tank was just a bunch of bureaucrats - including Dolores Umbridge," she added, giving Harry a significant look.

"The Prophet said you already had a solution and refused to share it," persisted Harry.

"Those rumours were spread by some vengeful Pureblood," she said grimly. "And even if I had a solution that would allow the Ministry to exterminate the werewolves - that was a goal of the committee, by the way - why would I share it? The Werewolves just wanted jobs and more rights. You can't deny an entire breed of people jobs, and then expect them to not turn to crime.

"Wizards have spent their entire lives trying to treat lycanthropy, Harry. I'm just a witch, not a miracle-worker," she shrugged helplessly. "You give the world two miracles, and they clamour against you for not providing a third."

Harry had, in his time, felt the unfair shortsightedness of the Wizarding public, and he could empathize with Hermione completely.

"So after that, you left for here?"

She shook her head.

"No. I tried to stick around for a bit - but do you know how hard it is to find a decent job as a Muggleborn? No one wanted to hire me. Even as a supposed heroine of the war against Voldemort, I couldn't get a job offer for a post higher than that of a secretary or a store-front clerk. After the Ministry started its smear campaign - they wanted to blame me for the losses in the Werewolf war - and the public found out that Ron and I had broken up, even the interviews for those jobs dried up. I think I only had one interview after that, and that was a trap where a group of Wizards tried to hex me in the back."

"Mrs Weasley said she offered to keep you within the Weasley protection," he said.

Hermione almost dropped her teacup

"Did you expect me to take that up?" she exploded. "I'm grateful for Mrs Weasley's kindnesses over the years, but why should any Muggleborn need any kind of sponsorship from a Pureblooded family to remain safe in the Wizarding World or to hold a job. Is that the kind of society you want to live in, Harry?"

Harry was forced to admit that he did not. He had never particularly thought about it that way - when Mrs Weasley had told him Hermione had refused her offer, he imagined that she was being stubborn, or perhaps that she was mad at Ron for some reason. He should have seen that she would interpret this as an attack on her principles - not unlike her SPEW efforts at Hogwarts.

"I went back to my parents and cried to them for days," she continued. "I dropped all contact with the Magical World and put up a few strong mail redirection wards. You're the only person I keyed in, and went to night school to take my GCSE's. It was hard - Muggle education is much more rigorous than Hogwarts - but I managed to finish my GCSE's about six months ago. I'm now a normal adult in the Muggle world, even if I'm one without the sense to go to a University," her eyes glistened as she said this - Hermione valued education above almost everything else, and no doubt, she would have felt strongly about such a situation.

"So what do you do now?" he asked.

"I'm working on a few side-projects," she said vaguely. Something about the way she said it perked up Harry's ears. It reminded him of the time she had been using a time-turner in Third Year, and this time Harry was perceptive enough to pick up on it.

"Side projects?" he asked innocently. "Do these side projects have anything to do with ward manipulation?"

Hermione looked very pointedly at her feet. "They might," she allowed.

Harry sighed and moved onto the floor from the couch.

"Hermione," he said gently. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Hermione looked at him, tears welling in her eyes.

"I know you're on the Turpin case, Harry," she whispered. "I know you think I'm involved, and well, I am," she looked at him brazenly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I'm not going to apologize, I know we're doing what needs to be done. I could have run, you know. When the wards blew you away, I could have floo'd away. By the time you broke through the wards - if you broke through them at all - I would've been far away, with no trace of me left behind. But I hadn't seen you in so long - I just wanted to see you once again."

She sobbed and flung herself at her oldest friend, wrapping her arms around him, weeping into his shoulder. Harry could do nothing but hold her as she cried.

"When I left the Wizarding World, I tried to reach out to other Muggleborns in our world. Do you know the kind of stories I found? I, who thought I had been victimized and abused, was one of the privileged! Privileged by virtue of being Harry Potter's best friend, privileged by virtue of being closely associated with the Weasley family. I thought I had seen the darkness of Wizarding Britain, the depth of its prejudice, but Harry, I had only seen the tip of the iceberg!"

"I wish I hadn't gone to the continent, Hermione," said Harry sadly. "I wish I had been there for you."

Hermione pulled back from him and shook her head emphatically.

"No Harry, I'm glad you went. Without your 'protection' I finally saw what the other Muggleborns had lived through. Lisa was actually one of the first I came across - we had been partners in Ancient Runes, and I had gotten along very well with her. When she told me about Conner and what he did to Muggleborn girls, I was shocked that he wasn't prosecuted for it. Imagine my surprise when Lisa told me that this was the norm!

"We met up a few more times. Lisa wanted to take her GCSE's too, so we ended up forming a study group. Lisa reached out to some more of her Muggleborn friends, and our study group grew - no, I won't name any names. We took our GCSE's and most of us did well - but when we were done, someone pointed out to the group that we had an opportunity - this was the first group of organized Muggleborns we knew of, and because we were meeting solely by Muggle means, the Ministry had no idea we existed. We could use this to our advantage."

"So you formed an organized resistance?" asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head. "No, we weren't a resistance then. We wanted to be a community first - to pull in Muggleborns who were cast out by Magical Britain, and to provide them with a place where they could belong. We organized a committee, held elections ..."

Harry gasped.

"How big is this organization?" he asked, his mind swirling. When he had thought Hermione was helping Turpin, he had imagined a group of maybe three or four or five people. But elections? That implied a group at least as big as the DA, possibly even bigger!

"There are a lot of Muggleborns out there," said Hermione dryly, not giving him a direct answer. "For a while, the committee deliberated moving our mode of operations outside Great Britain. We considered Northern Ireland for a while - which is part of the Muggle United Kingdom, but falls under the purview of Irish Ministry of Magic."

"Moving outside the Muggle United Kingdom shouldn't have been a problem," noted Harry, "with the European Union and all."

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "But we quickly discovered that most Magical Ministries wouldn't take kindly to a sudden influx of Wizards and Witches into their communities - especially when those Wizards and Witches are mostly penniless Muggleborns. For a while, we gave up hope and resigned to staying and laying low within Britain, but we soon discovered the legends of Ynys Mon."

Harry hitched a breath as Hermione's voice dropped to a low tone of reverence when she spoke of Ynys Mon.

"So you began moving to Ynys Mon?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Discreet inquiries revealed that thought the island is nominally within the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic, no full Wizard or Witch has lived here since the days of the Druids."

"But doesn't your magic feel strange?" he asked.

"Oh, you feel that?" she said delightedly. "I suppose you would, and more strongly than most, since you're so magically powerful. Yes, we did feel strange, at first, and believe it or not, we didn't know why."

Harry stared at her. "You didn't know?"

"No," said Hermione, with an amused smile playing on her lips. "No one in our entire organization knew! The Purebloods have the gall to turn their noses up at us for not knowing their culture, but when have they ever bothered to teach us about it? We knew that the Ministry bans Wizarding families from living in Ynys Mon. Nothing we found adequately explained the strangeness of the magic here."

"The Ministry bans it because the Magic on the island interferes with the development of children!" said Harry, remembering what Daphne had told him.

"A common belief," said Hermione dismissively, "but one without any data to back it up. There's an extensive number of Muggleborns in the lower levels of the Ministry, and most of them are clerks and the like - meaning, they have access to most of the Ministerial records, except those in the Department of Mysteries. There is no recorded case of stunted Magical Development because of living in Ynys Mon. And let's be honest - how often does the Ministry fact-check before declaring something to be the case?"

Harry was forced to admit that she was right. The Ministry's track record in that department wasn't great.

"So you all moved to Ynys Mon to establish a community of your own," said Harry with a frown, "but why did you start deciding to attack Purebloods?"

"That was a ... group decision," she said quietly. "I didn't agree with it. I thought the Ministry wouldn't notice us as long as we stayed low and within Ynys Mon, but the committee felt that Muggleborns needed justice beyond what the Ministry was meting out. That's the trouble with democracy, you know - it tends to outgrow you. Lisa was in favour of sending a message. She brought Klein - Conner's Housekeeper - before the Committee and had her testify against him."

"It's still vigilantism," pointed out Harry.

"The same vigilantism that we engaged in to win the War against Voldemort," countered Hermione. "I know you were at the Notts' Harry - you saw what they'd been doing, with a free hand, I might add, just because they happen to be politically powerful. And Elphias Doge! He was a close associate of Dumbledore's, and he as good as raped Penelope Spencer!"

"Fair point," conceded Harry. "I agree with your goal, Hermione, but I can't agree with your means of achieving it. You have no idea how things have deteriorated in Wizarding Britain for Muggleborns - they've lost nearly all political support since the attacks started. They're getting attacked in the streets, hexed behind their backs. More and more are leaving ..."

"Leaving, and coming to us," interrupted Hermione. Harry started. "Muggle technology is wonderful, is it not? We've spread the message - people know where to come when they have nowhere else to go. We've distributed portkeys - if anyone feels unsafe, they are welcome on Ynys Mon."

"The Ministry is feeling strained," said Harry quietly. "Muggleborns are essential to the continued functioning of the Ministry - all those clerks, like you said. They will snap soon."

"Yes," said Hermione with a flash of anger. "They will come, but we'll be ready for them. Ynys Mon is ours, Harry. I may not agree with what the Committee is doing, but I elected them, so I'll stand behind them, especially when our home is threatened."

Her eyes softened.

"I don't want to fight against you when the Ministry comes, Harry. Will you stay here? We could use your help. You're Muggle-raised, you would fit in ..."

Harry looked at her, troubled. For the first time, he felt as if there were a chasm between him and his oldest friend, a chasm he was afraid he might not be able to cross. She noticed his hesitation, and her eyes fell.

"I'm sorry Hermione," he whispered. "I ... I need time to think."

"As you wish, Harry," she said. Her voice was cool, and it hurt Harry to hear her speak to him like that. "Be aware though - there are Magics at play here beyond what you and the Ministry understand. Not even you, with all your power would be able to hold up against us on Ynys Mon. You saw what my wards did to you."

"Hermione, I ..." he tried, but she interrupted him.

"You should go, Harry," she said quietly. "You won't be keyed in to the wards after you've left."

He set down his empty cup of tea and got up. Tears were glistening in Hermione's eyes. He tucked his Firebolt and Invisibility cloak under his arm and made for the door, but Hermione stopped him. She went into her room, and came back with a glowing green stone.

"Here," she said, thrusting it towards him. "It's like a portkey - it will take you back to the Ministry."

He took it from her, and a swirl of cover overtook his vision. There was no hook in his navel, pulling him across space and time like an ordinary portkey would. All there was was a swirl of colour, and Harry found himself standing - standing! Not falling! - in an alleyway behind the Ministry of Magic. He took a deep breath and strode towards the phonebooth that led to the Ministry. There was a lot to do.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	9. The Muggleborn Auror

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 9: The Muggleborn Auror **

When Daphne walked back into her office after her meeting with Draco, she was surprised to find that Harry wasn't there. He hadn't given her any indication that he was going to leave - she had assumed he'd be doing some paperwork while she was gone. She had to admit, she felt a little deflated to not find him there - she had been excited to share the news of her conversation with Draco.

Frowning, she sat down, and started looking over the list of Muggleborn employees at the Ministry Draco had given to her. It was a fairly long list - the Ministry was incredibly bloated and required a high number of support staff roles that tended to be filled by Muggleborns - and Draco had crossed out the names of Muggleborns who had disappeared or quit. A quick glance told her that the Ministry had lost around an sixth of its Muggleborn employees since the year began. She scratched her head - that didn't make a lot of sense. Turpin's first attack - on Count Conner - had only happened this summer, and yet according to the dates Draco had scribbled on the parchment, the exodus had begun as early as New Year's!

A faint noise floated into the office - was it someone shouting? Daphne got up and peeked outside. The noise was coming from Madam Bones' office. She winced. The door flung open and an Auror - Richardson, Daphne thought his name was? - practically fled from the room.

"Bad case?" Daphne asked sympathetically, as he passed her office. The man jumped, startled to be addressed.

"Oh no," he said wiping his forehead. "I just put in my two weeks, and Madam Bones wasn't too happy about it. Blew a gasket, she did."

Instantly Daphne went on alert. She was pretty sure Richardson was a Muggleborn.

"Two weeks, eh?" she said casually. "Too bad, we'll miss you here. How come you're leaving?"

"I found another gig," he said, but Daphne smelled his nervousness.

"Won't you come in for a moment?" she asked, but her voice made it clear that it wasn't a question. He gulped and followed her into her office.

"Richardson, is it? Tell me Richardson, about this gig of yours."

Richardson stared at her sullenly. "None o' your business, is it?" he snapped finally.

Daphne, with her well-practiced Slytherin steel in her voice, levelled him a cool look that left him squirming.

"I know exactly what your gig is, Richardson," she said. "You're leaving to join Turpin, aren't you?"

The look of shock on his face was priceless. Did he honestly think she wouldn't suspect? The whole department knew she was on the Turpin case. How did a man this dense make it through Auror training?

"I don't know what you mean," Richardson said stubbornly. Daphne sighed. She suspected this man had been a Gryffindor.

"You're under arrest Richardson," she said, pulling her wand out. "Surrender your wand immediately, and you won't be hurt. Resist, and I will take you out myself."

There was a flash of movement as Richardson whipped out his wand. Daphne fired a Stunner at him, but to her utter shock, the stunner clanged against an invisible shield and dissipated. Did Richardson have some charm or amulet on him?

The man stood up shakily, and Daphne took a step back. His wand was pointed straight at her. She tried another spell - an _Expelliarmus_ this time - and CLANG! Again, it hit the invisible shield and dissipated. She raised a shield, her heart beating. What Magic was this?

"Arrested, am I?" sneered Richardson. He hesitated for the merest fraction of a second, weighing his options, and then there was a loud crack. Daphne dove to the floor, but no spell flew towards her.

She peered around her desk, and her shoulders sagged in relief. Richardson had been stupid enough to try and apparate in the Ministry building. The layered anti-apparation wards had flung him back, and he had hit the wall behind him hard enough to knock him out.

There was a pattering of feet outside - someone had heard the noise of explosions. Daphne stood up and straightened her robes, brushing the dust off of him. Three Aurors burst into the office, followed closely by Madam Bones.

"What happened here?" demanded Madam Bones. It took all the willpower Daphne possessed to not take a step back from the glowering head of the DMLE. She felt herself getting tongue-tied again, and her face heated up. Madam Bones seemed to take pity on her. "To my office," she ordered. "Travers, bring Richardson, and make sure you remove his wand."

A burly Auror stepped forward, removed Richardson's wand, and handed it to Daphne who pocketed it without a word. It was a silent procession to Madam Bones' office, with Daphne following her boss meekly, and Travers levitating Richardson's body behind them.

Madam Bones and Daphne both took a seat in her office, and Travers set Richardson down on a chair next to Daphne.

"_Incarcerous_," he muttered, pointing his wand at Richardson. A set of ropes flared out of his wand and tied him up ... or seemed as if they were about to tie him up. The ropes seemed to melt away from Richardson, falling loosely in his lap. Travers blushed a beet red.

Muttering an apology to Madam Bones, he tried again, this time in a much stronger voice. "_Incarcerous_!" Again, ropes emerged from his wand and seemed as if they were tying up Richardson, only to melt away again.

Madam Bones frowned, and pulled out her wand.

"_Incarcerous_," she said in a clipped voice. Her spell was better than Travers - her ropes were thicker and there was a greater number of them - but they, too, melted away from Richardson. "Empty his pockets," she ordered.

Travers obediently did so. A half eaten sandwich, a few blank pieces of parchment, and a curious looking green stone were placed on Madam Bones' desk.

"_Incarcerous_," tried Madam Bones again, and this time her spell was true. Richardson was tightly bound. A quick _Renervate_ brought him back to consciousness and he woke with a gasp, looking around with wild eyes. When he found Madam Bones staring at him with grim eyes, and Daphne wand pointed at him, his face sank.

"Now Greengrass," she said in a clipped voice. "Tell me what happened. Travers, you're excused."

The burly Auror recognized the note of warning in Madam Bones' voice and practically fled the office. Daphne wished she could follow him. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth and started telling Madam Bones of the latest finds in the Turpin case, how she had discovered that there was an exodus of Muggleborns from the Ministry, and how she had suspected that Richardson was leaving to join them and tried to arrest him, and what happened after.

Madam Bones listened in silence and without asking any questions. When Daphne was done, she turned to Richardson.

"Do you have an explanation, Richardson?" she asked.

"You'll get nuffink from me!" snarled Richardson. Daphne was taken aback by the hostility in his voice. "It's a free country, innit? I can go where I please, you got nuffink on me! You heard Greengrass' story, Madam Bones, she tried to arrest me. Where's her warrant, eh? This is why I'm moving far away from this place - just because I'm a Muggleborn, I'm going to join Turpin, eh? You're profiling me for being Muggleborn, same as the rest of your world."

"A senior Auror has the right to arrest someone for probable cause," said Daphne smoothly. "I'm a senior Auror, am I not?"

Richardson's glare wavered. Apparently he had not considered that fact.

"And as for joining Turpin," said Madam Bones. "Would you be willing to take some truth potion to confirm that, Richardson?"

"Can't give me a Truth Potion without Wizengamot consent," said Richardson stubbornly. "I know me rights, I ain't no Muggleborn off the streets you can terrify into submission, y'hear?"

"Perhaps not," agreed Madam Bones, "but if you agreed to take it voluntarily, this mess would get cleared up right away, wouldn't it? If not, I'm afraid you'd have to spend time in a Ministry holding cell until the Wizengamot finds the time to review your case, and you know how busy the Wizengamot is. I'm afraid it might be some time before they get around to it. What do you think?"

Richardson stared back at her in stony silence. He knew he was stuck.

"Well then," said Madam Bones, picking up a piece of purple parchment and scribbling something on it. "Travers will be along to escort you to your holding cell shortly."

"Wait," said Daphne suddenly. "I have one more question."

She pointed her wand at the strange green stone that had been retrieved from Richardson's pocket. "What is this?"

Richardson glared at her, but she held his gaze.

"A gift," he said at last. "And none of your business."

Daphne cast a few diagnostic charms on the stone. All the charms came back negative. Richardson smirked.

"Ain't nothing on it," he sneered. "It's a pretty trinket, maybe you would like it, yeah? Well you can't have it."

Cautiously, Daphne reached forward to pick it up. Nothing happened.

"Madam Bones, could you cast an _Incarcerous_ on me?" she asked. Richardson's face turned a pasty white. He struggled with his ropes, but they were tight. Madam Bones pointed her wand at Daphne.

"_Incarcerous_," she cast. Thick ropes flew out - but to Daphne's shock, they successfully bound her to her chair. Madam Bones vanished the ropes and raised in eyebrow. The colour had rushed back into Richardson's face

"You're looking like an idiot, Greengrass," he snickered - but Daphne had seen his reaction when she picked up the stone. There was something special about it. Could it possibly be keyed to Richardson somehow? She gave Madam Bones a significant look, and the Head Auror nodded back, understanding what she was about to do.

She leaned forward and tapped Richardson on the knee with the green stone. Immediately, the ropes binding him melted away. He leaped to his feet, but Madam Bones was too fast for him - a quick Stunner had him lying spread-eagled on the floor.

"Well," said Madam Bones shortly. "That explains that. I've never seen magic the likes of it before. I think we'll have to call in the Department of Mysteries on this one."

Daphne shrugged. She didn't think the Department of Mysteries would have much to offer about the green stone. Coupled with the mysterious tear in the Notts' wards, Daphne had a very strong suspicion that Turpin had discovered some hidden magic at Ynys Mon. She debated for a moment whether she should bring up the prospect to Madam Bones - perhaps she should wait until she had better proof - but then she decided the issue was too important and too pressing to wait for proof on.

"Madam Bones," she began tentatively, "Harry and I suspect that Turpin might have unearthed some hidden magic at Ynys Mon."

Madam Bones eyed her critically. "The druids wrote down nothing, Greengrass. There have been no magic users at Ynys Mon since the Battle of Menai Straits."

Daphne felt her tongue start to tie again. Viciously she suppressed the instinct, and took a deep breath to clear her mind.

"Where else would a Muggleborn find magic like this?" she asked, picking up the green stone. "This thing effectively neutralizes magics cast on Richardson."

"There are many magics in the world," said Madam Bones, steepling her fingers as she frowned. "It's possible that Turpin travelled and picked something up from India or China or the Middle East."

Daphne said nothing. She had a feeling her instinct was correct, but she had also been correct in anticipating that Madam Bones would require more proof. She rose to take her leave.

"Would you like me to escort Richardson to the holding cells?" she asked.

Madam Bones shook her head. "I'll have Travers put him in," she said dismissively. Daphne nodded politely and exited the office. She checked her watch - it was late in the afternoon, and she felt a raging headache come on as the adrenaline from her encounter with Richardson began to fade. She scribbled a note to Harry explaining that she had gone home, and grabbed her coat and wand and left the Ministry.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The next morning, Daphne floo'd in to the Ministry early. She expected to find the office empty, but was surprised to see a gaunt and tired-looking Harry Potter at his desk. He had bags under his eyes - and had he not been wearing a different set of robes, Daphne would have suspected that he spent the night at the Ministry.

"Are you okay?" she asked in alarm, walking over to his desk.

"Didn't sleep well," he said shortly. He pushed a piece of parchment at her - it was a report on the Richardson incident. She recognized Travers' atrocious handwriting on it. "It looks like Travers went to inform Richardson's wife of his arrest and found the house empty. They had packed up and vanished."

"Interesting," she mused. "Another family disappeared. Draco had some interesting perspective as well."

Pouring out coffee for him - he looked like he needed it - she proceeded to tell him a quick summary of her conversation with Draco. Right as she was wrapping up, she noticed a green stone on Harry's desk.

"Harry," she asked, looking at him strangely. "What's that?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

A million things ran through her mind. Was he ... could he ... could he be working with Turpin? She shook her head. He had helped her as ably as she could reasonably expect from someone new to the force. But then again, she recalled how he had sometimes seemed troubled or worried through this case, and she hadn't been able to pinpoint why.

She hoped he wasn't a traitor; but just in case, her hand reached towards her wand casually. Potter - had he suddenly gone back to being Potter in her mind? - didn't notice her casual movement, or pretended not to.

This was stupid, she decided. There shouldn't be a mistrust between partners. She had to confront him.

"Where were you yesterday?" she asked, changing her line of questioning.

He looked at her at length, and she wondered what going through his brain. Did he suspect that she knew? It was likely that he did - her line of questioning was too direct for her usual manner.

"I went to see Hermione," he said quietly. "She gave me the stone as a portkey back to the Ministry."

"That's unauthorized portkey creation," said Daphne. "You should have arrested her."

He shook his head. "It wasn't a portkey the way we think of it. I think it was some kind of variation on the charm."

He looked away from her, and Daphne could tell he was getting uncomfortable and wanted to change the subject, but she pressed on. She fetched an evidence bag from a locker and held it out in front of Harry. It contained the green stone that had been retrieved from Richardson.

Harry stared at it, and then at his stone, and then at Richardson's again.

"Where did you find Granger?" asked Daphne.

He said nothing.

"Harry," she repeated desperately. "It was Ynys Mon, wasn't it? Please tell me you're not involved in this mess ..."

That, finally, roused a reaction from him.

"Of course not!" he said indignantly. "You saw how vicious the attack on the Notts was! Do you think I would do something like that?"

"I could hardly imagine it from Granger either," said Daphne coolly.

He opened his mouth to respond, but had no answer.

"It's not her," he said finally. "I talked to her, they have a council ... it was a group decision; she was against it."

Daphne gasped. Was the group big enough that they had a council?

"Look Daphne, she's my best friend," he said with a sigh. "She wanted me to join them, I refused. I couldn't. I think they have a just cause, but they're definitely not going about it the right way."

"They're undermining the fabric of our society!" cried Daphne. "How can you agree with them?"

"The fabric of our society relies on keeping Muggleborns in their place!" retorted Harry, rising from his desk in anger. "In each of the cases we've seen, Muggleborns were unjustly oppressed and denied justice by the Ministry, and this is only a drop in the ocean. There is institutionalized prejudice in Wizarding Society against Muggleborns - you can't deny it!"

Daphne opened her mouth to argue, but realized she didn't have an argument. A nagging doubt surfaced in her mind as she remembered the Muggleborn clerk in the goblin liaison office that Draco had mentioned, who was passed over an opportunity to fill in the role of Head of Department because some Pureblood family wanted to place their second son there, or how Madam Bones had casually threatened Richardson with indefinite detention.

"Even if it is so," she conceded. "Our job is to enforce the law, not write it. We can't selectively choose what parts to enforce because of our beliefs on what is just and what is not. If this movement is organized enough to have a leadership council, we need all the information we can get to bring them to justice. This isn't a small case for two Aurors any more, it's grown into something much bigger than us."

Just then, the door to their office opened, and a purple airplane flew in.

"It's from Draco," said Daphne grimly, reading the memo contained therein. "Word of Richardson's arrest got out - maybe Travers blabbed it? - and Muggleborns have disappeared en masse. He says he got dozens of resignation notices overnight, and he's afraid even more people just won't show up to work. The Minister is throwing a fit demanding answers, and he wants to know if there are any leads on the Turpin case he can use to placate the Minister."

Harry let out a low whistle.

"Will the Ministry be able to keep running without all those Muggleborns?"

"I highly doubt it," said Daphne seriously. "Very likely it will grind to a standstill. Do you see why I'm saying that they're tearing our society apart? The Ministry can't function while this division exists, and without the Ministry, who will protect the Statute of Secrecy? The Muggles will find out about us, and you know that of all possible outcomes, that is the worst one."

Harry said nothing. He just played with the green stone Hermione had given him, flipping it between his fingers as he stared at his desk.

"Ynys Mon," he said finally, looking up. "She was on Ynys Mon. But I'm going to go warn her, Daphne. She's my best friend."

He stood up, and Daphne noticed that he was gripping his wand tightly. She debated trying to disarm and detain him, but this was Harry Potter. She knew she was no match for him in a duel.

"I understand," she said, with a sincerity that surprised herself. She supposed that if it had been her and Tracey had been on the other side, she would want to go warn Tracey. "Tell her to get out of there. It's very likely the Ministry will be going there in force while it can still marshal its resources."

He nodded grimly. "Thanks Daphne."

"Here," she said, reaching forward to pry the stone from his hands. She was pleasantly surprised when he let go, and a warmth welled up inside her at his trust. This truly wasn't the Slytherin-hating Harry Potter she had gone to school with. Tapping the stone with her wand, she murmured a few Latin words. The stone glowed blue momentarily, before returning to its emerald green colour.

"What did you do?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"Family magic," she winked. "It'll take you back to her when you say her name."

He nodded in appreciation. "Hermione Granger," he said out loud, and winked out of existence.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Harry knew that flying back to Ynys Mon would take forever - that was why he had chanced taking the portkey Daphne had offered. He had half expected to end up in Azkaban or some Ministry cell, but true to Daphne's word, he found himself just outside Hermione's cottage, on the edge of the wards. It was a summer's morning, so the sun was well up in the sky. He hoped Hermione hadn't left for work yet - if she worked at all.

He reached forward with his magic tentatively, and the wards around Hermione's house flared at him in warning, forcing him to take several steps back.

"Hermione!" he shouted out her name, once, and then twice again. "Hermione!"

There was no response, so he took out his wand to cast a Sonorous Charm, but his magic turned within him, warning him against performing the charm. He growled in frustration - how did anyone with magic live on Ynys Mon?

What possessed him to do what he did next, Harry would never be able to tell anybody afterwards. He didn't know what he was thinking - perhaps he wasn't thinking at all - but he reached out to his magic and grasped at it. Intending to project his voice once again, he bellowed out Hermione's name once more:

"HERMIONE!"

The resultant shout was so loud, it nearly deafened him. The dropped to his knees, gasping in pain, clutching at his ears. Windows rattled in the cottages around him, and from a nearby oak tree, a flock of birds rose in alarm, cawing as they flew away. A few neighbours poked their heads out in curiosity, and Harry saw their lips moving, but he heard nothing. All he could hear was a shrill silence echoing in his ear.

There was a movement at Hermione's doorstep, and had Harry not already been on his knees, he would have sagged in relief. The brown-haired witch looked outside, and on seeing him, marched out towards him, helping him up and leading him inside. She was chattering all the way, and Harry didn't hear a word she said, but he saw in her expression perplexed bemusement and a dash of annoyance.

She seated him on one of the couches and bustled around in the kitchen for a bit before coming out with a potion and what looked like a muggle eye-dropper. Carefully she extracted the potion using the eye-dropper, and tilting Harry's head on the side, she poured a drop into one ear, and then into the other.

Gradually the shrill silence in Harry's ears receded and the sounds of the environment took their place. Hermione was standing in front of him, tapping her foot expectantly, and every tap seemed to bludgeon his ears. He winced - and the movement caused the couch he was sitting in to creak, and it sounded like a tree falling next to him.

"Loud," he gasped, and his words sounded like a Quidditch announcer sitting next to him.

Hermione reached forward and placed her palms on his temples. She murmured a few words - he could hear them, even though she was barely uttering them out loud - and the sensitivity of his ears slowly decreased until it was back to normal. In a corner of his brain, he registered that she had done wandless magic of some kind again.

"Thank you," he said sagging into the armchair in relief, but Hermione ignored him.

"Harry James Potter!" she began severely. "Of all the stupid, ignoramus things you could have done - what on earth possessed you to use a Sonorous charm on Ynys Mon?"

"Umm, I didn't?" said Harry timidly.

"Excuse me?" she was caught mid-stride in her rant.

"I didn't use a Sonorous charm," he said, feeling confused. "I just, I dunno, held onto my magic and shouted for you. If only you hadn't excluded me from your wards," he finished grumpily.

"A wandless Sonorous is still a Sonorous," she snapped. "In any case, why are you here?"

The question reminded Harry of why he was there, and he got up in alarm as he remembered.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione, the Ministry," he swore. "A bunch of Muggleborns disappeared last night."

"Yes," she frowned. "We had an unusually large number come in. Why?"

"A Muggleborn Auror was arrested after he put in his notice. They questioned him and discovered that he was going to join Turpin, so a large number of Muggleborns didn't show up to work today. The Ministry is in disarray, they can't function without the Muggleborns - they're going to come out full strength to Ynys Mon!"

"I see," said Hermione slowly.

"The Ministry forces are huge, Hermione - even without whatever Muggleborns have disappeared. You need to ..." but he found himself faltering as he tried to express his desire for her to be away from conflict. He recognized the expression on her face - it was the same tightly clenched teeth and set jaw, the crunched up look of determination she had on his face when she had stood by his side against Voldemort and his Death-Eaters. She hadn't backed down then, and there was no way she would back down now. "You're not going to listen to me, if I tell you to leave, are you?"

She shook her head sadly. "This is my cause, Harry. I have to fight for it."

There was an extended pause as the two former friends avoided each other's eyes, each looking past the other, until Harry couldn't bear it any longer.

"I'm going to go back," he said, getting up, feeling incredibly tired. "I'll let you know if there's anything I can find that might help you."

"Thank you," she whispered, looking at him sadly. He wondered if she had expected him to insist on staying, on defending her as she had defended him. An incredible feeling of guilt threatened to overwhelm him, and he fought to keep it down.

"Do you mind?" he asked, extending out the green stone she had given him towards her. She took it between her forefinger and her thumb and whispered a few words. The stone glowed blue, and she held it out to him.

Harry held his hand back from her for a moment.

"I won't ever raise a wand against you, Hermione," he told her seriously. "I promise."

That seemed to break Hermione.

"Oh Harry!" she sobbed, flinging her arms around him. He held her for several minutes, rocking her back and forth as she sobbed into his shoulder. It was several minutes later that she stepped back, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and handed the stone to him with a whispered, "Be safe."

"I'll try," he promised, but his words were lost to a swirl of rainbow colours and the pointed absence of a tug on his navel.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	10. The Way of Politicians

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 10: The Way of Politicians **

The green stone took Harry not to the Ministry, but to the edge of the wards on the Burrow in Ottery St Catchpole. He frowned and looked at the stone in his hands. Could it have known? Did it judge his intention somehow?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he looked up at the lopsided structure of the Burrow looming ahead of him. It reminded him of a time that was, a person he had been, and friends that he had had. Had it truly been so long since the War with Voldemort, that everything he had known had changed since?

The wards accepted him as he stepped over them and began a slow walk towards the doorstep. Not since his incarceration at the Dursleys before Hogwarts had Harry felt so alone and friendless. Ron, his first friend his age, hadn't forgiven him for leaving Britain and kept a healthy distance from him. Hermione, his next closest friend, was now embroiled in her own struggles and battles, independent of him. She certainly treated him a lot better than Ron, but even so there was a chasm between them that Harry felt unable to cross.

It struck him then, that how few close friends he had had in Hogwarts. He wished he had been able to build a better network while at school - but then again, with the threat of Voldemort hanging over him every year, he hardly had had the time to worry about silly things like building relationships.

There was Daphne, he thought. The former Slytherin had proved to be an excellent partner and a solid acquaintance, but she wasn't exactly a close friend; after all, he had barely known her for a month. He trusted her - and trust was the foundation of all friendships - but friendships needed time to develop and mature.

He knocked lightly on the door at the Burrow, and was greeted by a small shriek and the sound of footsteps. Instinctively, his hand strayed towards to his wand. The door pulled open, and Mrs Weasley's flushing face peered out at him.

"Oh Harry," she cried, opening the door wide and ushering him in. "Come in, come in. Shouldn't you be at the Ministry, dear? What with everything ..."

Her voice trailed off as they entered the living room. Ron was dressed in the dragon-hide robes he had taken to wearing towards the end of the War with Voldemort. He had one arm around Lavender, and in his other arm, he was holding his daughter. Lavender was sobbing softly into his shoulder. Harry felt a pang of sadness, and no small amount of jealousy at the family Ron had - and always had had.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, disengaging from his hug with Lavender and handing her Rose. He turned around fully to face Harry. "You're coming to Ynys Mon, right? It'll be just like old times."

His face was flushed in anticipation, and there was a glint in his eyes that Harry didn't like at all.

"No," said Harry.

Ron frowned. "You don't really have a choice, do you? You're an Auror; you have to fight for the Ministry."

"I won't raise my wand against Hermione," said Harry firmly. Lavender let out a gasp.

"Hermione's involved?" cried Mrs Weasley. "Oh dear, oh dear ... Ron, please reconsider, think about Rose."

"No," said Ron shortly. "The Minister asked for me himself, you know. Personal floo call. He wants the heroes from the War leading the Ministry's charge."

His chest puffed with self-importance. This was what he had always dreamed of - to be in charge, to be in the spotlight. He would find, Harry thought sadly, that the spotlight wasn't as friendly as those who craved it assumed. Men rose to the top, only to be brought down. Had that been him, Harry wondered. Had he reached the top, only to find himself alone and friendless?

"And of course," Ron continued, levelling a dark look at Harry, "I'm no traitor."

"Ron!" reprimanded Mrs Weasley. Harry held Ron's glare and said nothing. He ached to yell, to scream and have a good fight and then have things go back to normal, but he wasn't a teenager any more, and they weren't at Hogwarts. Adulthood had different rules. He watched in silence as Ron gave Lavender and Rose a kiss each, and disapparated with a pop.

Rose woke up at the sound and started to wail uncontrollably. There was a clang, and everyone's gaze was pulled to the Weasley family clock. Ron's hand moved from Home to Mortal Peril.

"I thought this was over," said Mrs Weasley desperately, wringing her hands. Rose continued wailing. Lavender flung a significant look at Harry and hurried upstairs hushing to silence the crying baby. Ron's wasn't the only hand on Mortal Peril. Ginny's was there as well, but Charlie, Bill, Fred and George were all pointed at work.

"Charlie went back to Romania," said Mrs Weasley. Her voice was listless. "Fred and George are at their shop. They refused the Minister - he reached out to them too. I'm glad they're not fighting, but I'm afraid the Ministry might decide to punish them later. Bill is a Gringotts employee, the daren't threaten him. Ginny went willingly when the Minister asked, and so did Ron. Arthur - Arthur might have to go."

"Why?" asked Harry. His voice sounded scratchy and hoarse, even to himself.

"The Ministry is calling up many its employees to bear wands," she said sadly, tracing Mr Weasley's hand. It was still pointed at Work, but as they watched it swung to Mortal Peril as well. Mrs Weasley let out a soft sob.

"I don't know what to do, Mrs Weasley," whispered Harry. "I ... I don't have anyone else to talk to, so I came to you."

Mrs Weasley forced her gaze away from the clock and looked at him sadly.

"Let me set up a pot of tea," she said sympathetically. "Why don't you tell me about it until?"

And so as Mrs Weasley bustled about in her kitchen, Harry told her of how he had met Hermione and how Daphne had discovered that there was a rebellion underfoot, and the Ministry had been galvanised.

"I wish they had been this decisive about the war with You-Know-Who," clucked Mrs Weasley.

"Yes," agreed Harry gloomily. "But the aggressors were rich and pureblooded families then. Now that it's Muggleborns without a say in the political system, everyone is quick to demonize them. Even Ron and Ginny ..."

"Ron and Ginny went for reasons other than the cause," said Mrs Weasley softly. "People fight for causes they never agree with all the time. Ron fights for glory, Ginny for bravery and recognition. I don't think they would have gone if the Minister hadn't especially called them up and offered them the opportunity."

"Couldn't you have stopped them?" asked Harry, sipping his tea.

Mrs Weasley shook her head. "I can't stop them. I can advise them, but they're adults who can choose not to listen. I love my children, but they have their own lives."

She stared at her tea, and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Mrs Weasley kept shooting nervous glances at the clock.

"What should I do, Mrs Weasley?" asked Harry. "I don't want to fight Hermione - but I don't want to fight Ron either. To defend one of my friends, I must fight the other."

Mrs Weasley reached forward and squeezed his hand sympathetically.

"You can always choose not to fight, Harry," she advised. "It doesn't take a brave man to fight, but it does take a brave man to stand for what is right."

"But what is right?" asked Harry desperately. "Hermione's right; Muggleborns are horribly treated in this country and that needs to change, but we've seen enough war. Things were finally about to settle down, and now we're getting dragged into another conflict. Opposing her means opposing her cause, which is just in my mind. Fighting with her means lending support to her methods ... Doing nothing means sitting at home and being a coward while others fight."

"It's not cowardly at all," chided Mrs Weasley. "Not fighting, telling others to not fight - Harry, that's braver than anything else. Keeping your head when all about you are losing theirs - that's what shows that you have reached maturity and adulthood."

"We must choose between what is right and what is easy," quoted Harry.

Mrs Weasley dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "Yes, the Headmaster was fond of saying that, wasn't he? Perhaps if he were here, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Perhaps not," agreed Harry, standing up. "I think you are right, Mrs Weasley. I need to go talk to Madam Bones."

Mrs Weasley stood up and gave him a hug. "Good luck dear," she said. "And please be careful - the Ministry tends to be a little irrational in times like these."

"That's a bit of an understatement," said Harry with a smile, as he helped her carry her tea set to the sink. "May I use your fireplace?"

"Of course," she said, gesturing him towards the flowerpot where she put the family Floo powder. He took out a handful and stepped into the fireplace.

"Ministry of Magic," he declared, throwing the powder at his feet and disappearing in a burst of green flame.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

When Harry had left to warn Hermione, Daphne grit her teeth and marched out of her office. She felt a little embarrassed at her weakness in front of Harry. She could see that he wasn't a traitor ... yet. It was obvious that he was wavering. Still, she put it out of his mind. She didn't know whether he would come back or not, or if she might not face him on the other side at Ynys Mon. Forcing those thoughts out of her mind, she concentrated on the task at hand, and headed towards Draco's office.

His floor was a complete mess. Confused looking witches and wizards were scurrying about - so many of them that the absence of half the Ministry's workforce was completely disguised - and very few of them seemed to know what to do. Most of them tried to seem like they were doing something. Her lip curled in distaste at the obvious excess of incompetency. She wondered how many of them had been selected for higher jobs over their Muggleborn coworkers for which they really weren't qualified, because a family member that was willing to put in a good word.

She came to Draco's door, and dodging a brown-haired Wizard who couldn't see beyond the armload of files he was levitating in front of him, she rapped smartly on Draco's door.

"Come in," came Draco's voice. She opened the door and stepped inside.

"Auror Greengrass," greeted an unfamiliar voice, and Daphne almost froze in shock. It was the Minister of Magic.

"The Ministry's premier Auror," said Draco proudly. "Incidentally, she is also my sister-in-law." He sounded as though being the latter was a bigger compliment.

Daphne opened and closed her mouth, feeling completely tongue-tied. She didn't know what to say.

"Why don't you take a seat," said the Minister kindly, politely ignoring her discomfort. She nodded and slid in next to him. "Are you able to arrange a cup of tea for Ms Greengrass, Draco?"

Draco shook his head.

"The Muggleborn who makes tea didn't show up," he said grimly.

The Minister winced. "Of course. Auror Greengrass, what do you think is the best way forward?"

Daphne was shocked to be asked for her opinion, but luckily, this time she found her voice.

"I'm not sure if I should go behind Madam Bones' back ..." she began unsteadily.

The Minister interrupted her. "We don't have time to wait for formality, Auror Greengrass," he said, softly. Daphne was Slytherin enough to recognize the glint in his eye and know there was trouble if she refused. Draco nodded emphatically at her behind the Minister's back.

"We can hazard a good guess that the Muggleborns are at Ynys Mon," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat. Draco and the Minister both gasped as the realized the implications.

"The tracking charms that failed near Ynys Mon ..." whispered Draco.

Daphne nodded miserably. "They're all congregating there. We think they might have some form of organization going on over there."

The Minister raised an eyebrow.

"An organization," he almost shouted. "You mean to tell me there's a rebellion going on, and Madam Bones hasn't seen fit to tell me yet?"

"Minister," said Draco warningly, and the Minister seemed to calm down.

"To be fair," said Daphne, "we only discovered that they had an organization this morning. We haven't had a chance to report it yet to Madam Bones."

"I see," said the Minister sagely. He steepled his fingers and frowned at the floor, deep in thought.

"Minister, something must be done about this," said Draco. "Ynys Mon is British territory, and under the Ministry's laws, no Magicals may live there for their own safety. Any Muggleborns who have gone there have broken Magical Law, and should be punished." He took in a deep breath. "Besides, we have traditions - there is a reverence for Ynys Mon in our culture that ought not be discarded."

"Indeed," said the Minister thoughtfully. "Perhaps we need to engage these Muggleborns. Auror Greengrass, have you had any contact with the leadership of this organization?"

Daphne shook her head. "I have not, but my partner encountered a witch who claims to be associated with their leadership," she said, deliberately choosing vague words to avoid further questioning. The Minister didn't seem to notice, but Draco's eyes narrowed at her.

"Well," said the Minister, clapping his hands in delight. "That should be good enough for the ICW. We attempted to negotiate, and since the Muggleborns disappeared en masse, that counts as a refusal to negotiate. I'm off to see Madam Bones - we'll get these rebels taken care of shortly."

"Minister," said Draco carefully. "Wouldn't it be better to send an official delegation to treat with them?"

"Nonsense," said the Minister cheerfully. He seemed in high spirits for a man whose government had just been crippled. "To treat with them means to recognize them, and we're not going to make that mistake. Likely, it's just a ragtag group of Muggleborns getting ahead of themselves. The people need to know," he added conspiratorially, "that I am no Cornelius Fudge. I can recognize a threat and cut it at its root."

And with that, he got up and left. Daphne just stared at his back as he exited the room.

"Is he being serious?" she asked Draco, feeling dazed. Draco nodded.

"Unfortunately, politicians have a way of deciding what they think is right before even hearing the facts," he said bitterly. "I know the Minister well enough to know that he won't change his mind now that it's made."

"He can't make an Act of War without Wizengamot approval," she protested.

"You just gave him an excuse," he pointed out. "They're on Ynys Mon without Ministry approval. It's not an Act of War now, it's law enforcement - that's why he went to talk to Madam Bones. And in case the ICW doesn't see it that way, he'll claim that Potter was sent to negotiate and was refused."

"But Harry wasn't sent to negotiate," said Daphne, frustrated. "What if he says so to the ICW?"

"Then it was a terrible misunderstanding and he was misinformed by a member of the Auror Corps," he looked at her pointedly. Understanding, terrible understanding dawned on Daphne. "Of course, I don't mean to say you _will_ be made a scrape-goat - in all likelihood, if it comes down to that, we will make something up about you being confounded, or under the Imperius, and it will all blow over. Politics isn't about telling the truth, it's about saving face."

Daphne wasn't so sure. She felt terribly stupid, to not see this coming. For Merlin's sake - she was a Slytherin! She gnawed her teeth in frustration and kicked Draco's expensive desk.

"Don't worry about it, Daphne," said Draco, looking at her in pity. "You're my wife's sister - for all intents and purposes, you are part of the Malfoy family. I'll make sure nothing comes out of it. The Malfoy name carries enough clout to ensure that."

"Thanks Draco," she said gloomily, making her way towards the door. "Good luck with ..." she gestured towards his paperwork.

"Good luck to you too," he said quietly as she closed the door behind her.

Outside, she felt incredibly alone in the chaos in the hallways as Purebloods tried to figure out what their Muggleborn colleagues had done for so long. She was grateful for Draco's offer for protection, but just like Astoria, she had been reduced to needing a Pureblooded family's protection. The reason she had avoided the Pureblood socialites and taken a job as an Auror had been to live without depending on a Pureblood husband or his family for protection. Keeping her head down and avoiding people who would view her as a threat, she had thought she would succeed, but life had other plans. Not for the first time, Daphne wished her father was still alive.

She headed back to office, to find a purple memo with a summons to Madam Bones' office waiting for her. Sighing, she got up and headed towards there, pausing for a moment to glance at Harry's empty desk. She wondered where he was and whether he had succeeded in getting Granger out of Ynys Mon. She suspected he hadn't - Granger was known for her stubbornness.

The Minister was waiting in Madam Bones' office, and Madam Bones looked less than pleased.

"Auror Greengrass," she said coolly. "I discovered from the Minister that the Muggleborns have an organization of Ynys Mon. Isn't that something I should have been telling the Minister."

"Now now Amelia," soothed the Minister in an oily voice. "I'm sure it was a rookie mistake."

"I only discovered it this morning," said Daphne calmly.

She was burning internally at being called a rookie - the man had just acknowledged her as Britain's best Auror in Draco's office. She recognized it for what it was - a powerplay of the Minister's over Madam Bones by calling her best Auror a rookie.

"Nevertheless," said Madam Bones, looking displeased. "You should have been more prompt in bringing these critical details to my attention. The Minister is demanding I send a task-force to bring these Muggleborns to justice - how many do you think is adequate?"

Daphne was taken aback by the question.

"I'm not sure Madam Bones," she said. "We have no information about the numbers they have. Even Draco Malfoy's numbers only represented ratios and not absolutes."

"Oh come now," said the Minister impatiently. "Half a dozen Aurors? Or how about a dozen, Amelia - we can make it a little flashy. Bring in Turpin, maybe an accomplice or two, and the rest will come running back to the comfort of their Ministry jobs."

"Madam Bones, there is also that issue about the unknown magic we encountered at the Notts," said Daphne quietly, "and the green stone we found on Richardson."

"Unknown magic?" asked the Minister interestedly.

"Auror Greengrass thinks the Muggleborns have rediscovered Druidic magic somehow," snorted Madam Bones. Daphne's heart broke at the condescension in her boss' voice in front of the Minister. "She needs to remember that these questions are best left to the Department of Mysteries. The DMLE's job is to enforce the law."

Daphne gave up. She excused herself and slipped out of Madam Bones' office. She doubted the Minister or Madam Bones would even notice. Thick tears welled up in her eyes - she didn't know what to say or think. It seemed to her that her world had shifted so dramatically in just one morning.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Harry floo'd into the Ministry to find it in an uproar. He nearly barrelled into a harassed-looking wizard when the floo spat him out, and the man shot him a dirty look as he scuttled away. He weaved his way toward the lifts and squashed into one with another dozen wizards. When the doors opened on the DMLE's floor, he had to push his way out. The Department looked like a warzone as he entered. The force had had Muggleborns in it, but it wasn't as heavily dependent on them as other departments. Even slightly depleted, it seemed better off than the other departments he had seen on his way down.

He slipped towards his office and was surprised to find Daphne sitting at their desk, idly doodling on a piece of parchment.

"Daphne?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

She made no move to respond to him, so he levitated his chair over to her and sat down on.

"Daph," he chided gently, tapping her on the shoulder. That seemed to start her out of her reverie.

"Harry!" she said, sounding surprised. "How was it? Did you find Granger?"

He nodded. "She didn't want to leave though," he said sadly. "What's been going on here?"

She looked more somber that he had ever seen her before, and as she updated him on what had happened in the Ministry since he had left, he understood why.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She shrugged and straightened in her chair.

"There's nothing to be done about it," she said, sounding a little better now. "What's done is done. I expect the Minister's task force will be decimated by the Muggleborns, and then we'll be called in to do our work a dozen Aurors short. I am glad, by the way," she added, "that you came back."

Harry opened his mouth to tell her why he had come back, when the door to their office opened and a purple airplane memo flew in and landed on Daphne's desk. Harry looked over her shoulder as she read it. It was a summons from Madam Bones.

Taking in a deep breath to summon his courage, he murmured, "Let's go."

They walked in silence, each grateful for the other's company after their harrowing day. The door opened to admit them when they knocked, and inside they saw Madam Bones standing in a corner while the Minister paced on the floor.

"What can we do for you, Madam Bones?" asked Daphne, ignoring the Minister's exclamation of surprise at the sight of Harry.

"Our original taskforce of twelve Aurors hasn't returned from Ynys Mon," said Madam Bones grimly. "We lost all communication with them once they crossed over the Straits of Menai ..."

"That's unsurprising," interjected Daphne. "Given the nature of the magic on the island, ordinary spells and enchantments tend to not work properly."

"Even so," said the Minister. He was looking directly at Harry, making him feel uncomfortable. "We don't know the fate of those brave men and women and we are running out of time. I've gained the Wizengamot's approval - in record time, I might add - to marshall the Ministry's entire defensive apparatus and direct it towards Ynys Mon. We'll have this case wrapped up before nightfall. I'm sure the capable men and women in the Auror corps will have no trouble taking care of a rag-tag group of Muggleborns."

"That's not true," said Harry, steadfastly looking away from the Minister and refusing to meet his predatory gleam. "Madam Bones, Daphne tells me she informed you of the threat posed by the magic the Muggleborns possess. Why are we not giving this threat enough weight? Surely we can bring in someone from the Department of Mysteries ..."

"I will remind you, Auror Potter," snarled Madam Bones, "that I am your superior and not the other way around. For your information, we have already contacted the Department of Mysteries, and they have informed us that they can't give us any information. They also assure us that no hidden, Druidic magic could possibly have landed in the hands of those Muggleborns. As the Minister mentioned, we are running out of time."

"I wasn't aware you were Auror Greengrass' partner, Auror Potter," said the Minister, looking at him keenly. "Auror Greengrass mentioned her partner had been in contact with one of the rebels. Was it you she was talking about?"

Harry was unable to stop himself from shooting Daphne a surprised look. Madam Bones, however, was livid.

"Greengrass!" she raged. "How dare you not mention this! You know better, especially in a crisis like this! You'll be on probation for the foreseeable future, and after this has blown over, we'll have a discussion about your future in the Corps. Potter, who did get in contact with? Turpin?"

Daphne bowed her head and said nothing.

"I tracked down Hermione Granger," said Harry coolly. His respect for Madam Bones was dropping by several notches. There was no use hiding Hermione's involvement; it would come out sooner or later, and maybe he could use her name to chasten the Ministry.

Madam Bones certainly seemed taken aback. She glanced uncertainly between Harry and the Minister. "Minister perhaps we should reconsider ..."

"Nonsense, Amelia," said the Minister with forced cheerfulness. "Hermione Granger can't be more intelligent than the entire Department of Mysteries. In any case, we have instructions from the Wizengamot to attack - not even I can contravene the Wizengamot's orders."

"Perhaps in light of the new information ..." tried Harry, but the Minister cut him short.

"I'm afraid m'boy that there simply isn't enough time," he said in a grandfatherly voice that reminded Harry of Fudge. He was sure the Minister wouldn't appreciate the comparison. "Now I've enlisted some of your old friends to lead the Ministry forces - I know you're close to the Weasleys - and we're going to have you join them. There are ..."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Minister," said Harry quietly.

"Pardon?"

"That won't be possible, Minister," repeated Harry. "This is an unnecessary conflict - you need to treat with them ..."

"Auror Potter!" exclaimed Madam Bones. "Some respect for the Minister, please!"

"I'll remind you, Auror Potter, that you are an Auror," frowned the Minister. "Your job is to fight. My job, as the head of the Ministry, is to tell you when to fight. Unless you think you can do my job better than me?"

There was a challenge in his voice, but Harry ignored it.

"Need I remind you what these people did to the Notts?" asked Madam Bones.

"And need I remind you what the Notts had been doing to the Muggles and Muggleborns? Or what Elphias Doge did to Penelope Spencer?" shot back Harry. Daphne gasped behind him at his insubordination. "Perhaps if you had been as quick to bring Wizengamot members to justice as you are with Muggleborns, Minister, we wouldn't be in this situation."

"You have sworn Magical oaths, Potter," gritted Madam Bones.

"Magical oaths?" asked Harry, genuinely confused. "I didn't take any oaths."

"He skipped Auror training," interjected Daphne. "We take the oaths then."

Understanding dawned on Madam Bones' face. She exchanged a look with the Minister.

"You are still a part of the corps, Auror Potter," she said quietly, reaching for her wand. "You will be court-martialled for this disobedience. Greengrass, arrest Mr Potter."

Harry's hand flew towards his wand, but before he could bring it out, he found himself pushed onto the floor face first. A pair of magic-suppressing handcuffs clinked around his wrists.

"I told you to work on your physical strength," whispered Daphne as she got up and brushed the dirt off her robes. The Minister wore a pleased look on his face. Madam Bones was still frowning. Frustrated, groggy - had he hit his head? - Harry tried to reach out for his magic, but then there was a flash of red and he knew no more.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.

**Update Policy:** Updates at some point in the future. Please review, I appreciate your reviews :)


	11. The Battle of Menai

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 11: The Battle for Ynys Mon **

They apparated to the Muggle town near Menai Bridge, on the Welsh mainland. The advisors the Minister had arranged for them from the Department of Mysteries had cautioned against apparating directly to Ynys Mon - no one wanted to risk getting splinched. It was past noon, but the summer sun was obstructed by some copious cloud cover. The humidity was oppressive, making their robes stick to their skin.

Ministry Wizards went around a pre-arranged perimeter on the mainland side of the bridge, placing wardstones. When all the wardstones were linked up, the Wardmaster murmured a spell, and the wards flared into existence, with a powerful pulse of magic. Immediately, all non-magicals within the wards fell into a state of suspended animation. The Muggle cars on the road froze in place. A small party of Muggles was having a picnic on the lush greenery near the bridge, and the Ministry wizards efficiently moved them away from a place where they might be injured.

In ranks, two contingents marched down the road, each led by a Weasley sibling. When the reached the bridge, Ron Weasley strutted forward and cast the first spell.

"Expelliarmus!"

A jet of red light flew from his wand and across the bridge. A loud clang echoed through the eerily still streets at the curse was deflected - deflected in the same manner that Daphne's curses on Richardson had been deflected.

Frowning, Weasley turned back and exchanged a few words with the Wardmaster. The Wardmaster was a wizened old man, and at Weasley's instruction, he pulled out his wand and started rapidly casting diagnostic spells. Some of them Daphne recognized, but the vast majority were completely unfamiliar to her.

After a few minutes of spell-casting, the Wardmaster fiddled around in a large knapsack that one of his assistants carried and pulled out what a wardstone and handed it to Weasley. Weasley surveyed his contingent. Daphne looked away from him - not wanting to make eye contact - but she felt his gaze settle on her anyway.

"Greengrass," he called, with a smirk, probably thrilled at the idea of being able to order an underling around. Oh, how she longed to wipe it from his face. "Go up the bridge and chuck this at the edge of the wards."

Daphne glared at him as she snatched the wardstone from him. Taking a deep breath she stepped onto the bridge and walked towards the edge of the wards, up to a point where she thought she could throw the wardstone from and have it reach the wards still. With a heave, she tossed it at the wards.

BOOM.

The resulting explosion was magnificent. The magic seemed to eat up the bridge before their eyes, reducing it to ashes as though it were paper getting eaten by flame. Years of honed instincts ensured Daphne had the presence of mind to apparate from the bridge the moment the wardstone hit the wards, and had she not, she would definitely not have survived.

Weasley was not pleased, and he certainly didn't seem to notice or care whether Daphne had survived or not. He was yelling at the cowering Wardmaster - apparently he had not anticipated that the bridge would collapse along with the wards. From the frantic gestures of the Wardmaster, Daphne guessed that he had not anticipated it either.

While the elder Weasley was still berating the Wardmaster, Ginny Weasley led her contingent down towards the bridge and turned around to face them. She cast a Sonorus on herself, and then cried:

"Everyone, Reparo on three! One ... Two ... Three!"

"REPARO!" came the shout from the entire team. Several dozen beams of red light flew at the remains of the bridge in the Straits of Menai, and with a great deal of creaking and groaning, the remains lifted themselves out of the Straits. Steel and concrete fused together and the bridge stood once again.

Several of her team members dropped on their knees once she gave the instructions to stop. Daphne didn't like that move - Weasley's team members had used up a good amount of their magic before the Muggleborns had even cast a single spell. They would have been better off finding another way to the island.

There was a quick conference between the Weasley siblings, and then Ron Weasley stomped back to his team.

"Listen up," he said. "Ginny's gonna lead her team down the bridge to distract the traitors. We think the Muggleborns will bring the bridge down as they're crossing it, and they have instructions to apparate back to safety before it falls on them. Our job is to sneak across while they do that and flank 'em. Understood?"

There was no dissent so he continued. "The Ministry has given us these invisibility amulets. While you wear them, you'll be invisible to everyone who's not wearing such an amulet."

The Wardmaster edged forward and started handing out the amulets. One by one, Daphne's teammates put the amulets on and winked out of existence. She put hers on, and suddenly, all of them re-appeared.

Weasley motioned for them to follow him, and so they did. The Wardmaster wasn't keen on joining them, but with a quick verbal order, Weasley forced him along. They crept down the embankment towards the water. Above them, the other team was taking their first tentative steps on the bridge.

When they reached the water, Weasley dug his into his pockets and pulled out a bunch of pebbles. He tossed them into the water and the moment they broke the surface, each pebble expanded into a rowboat.

"No more'n four to a boat," grunted Weasley, climbing into one of the boats.

"Sir, are the boats invisible?" asked a young wizard. Daphne thought he was an Auror trainee.

Weasley paused. Apparently he hadn't thought of that. He turned to the Wardmaster, who was on his boat.

"We can make them invisible," said the Wardmaster, nervously wringing his hands.

"Do so," ordered Weasley. The Wardmaster tapped his wand on Weasley's boat, and it shimmered out of existence, followed by the rest of the boats in fleet. Weasley then tapped his wand on the stern of his boat, and four invisible oars jutted out of each boat and started rowing them towards the island.

They moved quickly and easily in the water, overtaking the other team at the halfway point of the bridge. When they crossed the halfway point, a terrible sense of unease came over Daphne that had nothing to do with sitting on an invisible boat. Looking around, she saw some of her teammates looking around uncertainly as well. She reached for her magic, but she found it slipping her grasp - as though she were trying to grab at a bar of wet soap that kept slipping away. Weasley seemed unfazed.

The feeling continued to mount, and as they approached the beach on the other side, Daphne saw a small contingent of seven Muggleborns looking straight towards them.

"Weasley, they can see us," she said.

"What are you blubbering about -" began Weasley, but she pointed towards the group of seven that was staring straight towards them. "Oh."

"Could they be seeing the ripples in the water?" asked someone from another boat. Daphne didn't think so. Remembering how regular, Roman magic seemed to fail on Ynys Mon, she took off her amulet.

"Greengrass, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing!" roared Weasley.

"I can see you," said Daphne, matter-of-factly. "These stupid things aren't working any more."

She tossed her amulet at the Wardmaster who caught it with a sneer. Weasley ground his teeth and stared at the Muggleborns, who stared impassively back.

"We keep moving," he ordered. "There are seven of them and several dozen of us."

They obeyed, wands in hand, shifting nervously as they approached the shore. The boats hit land and Weasley moved out. The team followed him, with Daphne lingering towards the rear, as he stomped his way towards the seven Muggleborns.

And then he seemed to recognize one of them and he froze.

"Hello Ron," said Hermione Granger. She looked calm and poised in a way she never had at Hogwarts. Only then did Daphne notice that the seven Muggleborns seemed to be standing in formation - in a v-shape like a flock of birds, with Granger at the head of the flock.

"Hermione," he ground out. "I was going to offer you filth a chance to surrender, but I think I might have changed my mind. Put your wands down and I won't hurt you too much."

Granger seemed unmoved.

"What wands?" she asked, her face still impassive.

It was only then that the party realized that their opposition was not holding any wands. Weasley almost took a step back in shock.

"You are trespassing," Granger continued. "Please go back the way you came."

"This territory belongs to the British Ministry of Magic," sneered Weasley, "and you are going to Azkaban. _Stupefy_!"

The red spell sailed out of his wand and sped towards the Muggleborns. Instead of making contact, it fizzed out midair. This time Weasley couldn't help but take a step back.

"_Stupefy_!" he shouted again, desperately. Again the spell sailed out, and again, fizzed away in the air.

"Are you about to give up yet?" asked Granger, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"_Expelliarmus_!" tried again Weasley. This time the spell successfully sailed through. Weasley shouted in triumph as it collided with Granger and pushed her a step back, but her hands were empty so the spell had no other effect.

"What exactly were you trying to disarm?" mocked Granger, smoothening her Muggle clothes. "I'm giving you one last chance. Leave or you will regret it."

A dangerous glint appeared in Weasley's eyes.

"_Avada Ked ..." _he began, but Granger snapped her fingers and his wand exploded in his wand. Weasley howled, his wand hand reduced to a bloody mess.

"Plan C," he barked, falling behind.

Plan C was what they were going to resort to if all magical forms of attack failed. Two witches hurried forward and jammed their wands into the ground. Immediately a large wall grew out of the ground between them and the Muggleborns, about shoulder high for Weasley, and just above Daphne's head. The rest of the team pointed their wands at various stones and rocks littered around them and cast levitating spells.

"On my mark," roared Weasley, gritting his teeth as a healer prodded her wand at his hand. "One ... Two ... Three."

Some of the levitation spells worked, some didn't. The Magic of Ynys Mon was finicky and unpredictable. The stones and rocks littered around the ground flew in the air, and hurled themselves at the Muggleborns. Some fell as soon as they raised into the air, some made it closer, but enough made it all the way through that all seven Muggleborns should have been severely injured, if not killed.

Instead, Hermione Granger simply raised her hands, as if in prayer, and the projectiles simply deflected out of the Muggleborns' way, falling around and behind them, but never on them.

The Muggleborns moved out of their V-formation, and into a straight line.

"Shields!" cried an alarmed Ronald Weasley, sensing that something was going to happen.

In unison, the Muggleborns stepped forward and slammed their left feet into the ground. The earth quaked on their impact, and Daphne's tenuous hold on her magic fled her and she fell to her knees. Her shield slipped, and around her, some of her teammates' shields flickered out too.

Again the Muggleborns took another step forward, and this time Granger - in the center of their formation - reached down and parted the earth gently with her hands.

A force of unimaginable power tugged at her feet, and dragged her into the ground. She felt herself sink into the earth, first to her ankles, then her knees, her hip, and finally her navel. She struggled against her imprisonment, but the earth was so tight around her that she could barely breathe, let alone move. Around her, her teammates struggled and Ron Weasley roared in frustration. The Muggleborns broke formation and stepped between them and started collected wands.

It was then that Daphne remembered that she still had in her pocket the stone from Ynys Mon that she had turned into a portkey. And so while her teammates struggled against their earthen prisons and Ron Weasley shouted obscenities at the Muggleborns, Daphne whispered a hushed password and was whisked away by the portkey.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

She reappeared outside the clearing where Harry's first tracking charm on Ynys Mon had failed, at the boundary of the Repulsion Ward. Where the magic at the Straits of Menai was tumultuous and wild, the magic in the center of the woods, next to the clearing, was calm and relaxing. Had it been this calm and relaxing when she had first come here with Harry, or when she had stood watch on the clearing after, searching for Lisa Turpin? She didn't think so. Perhaps, she thought, the magic was picking up on her intent - this time she didn't mean to harm or capture; instead, she sought protection for herself.

"I know you're there," spoke a voice behind her, and she froze. It was a voice she recognized. Gripping her wand tightly, she turned around. "Hello Daphne."

"Turpin," said Daphne evenly. The witch was standing calmly, arms folded. There was no wand in sight, but Daphne knew enough of what the Muggleborns could do without wands to not relax her grip on her wand in the least.

"Are you going to try and arrest me?" asked Turpin.

Daphne tried to hold onto her magic, but it danced away from her. She felt bare and cold without its comforting embrace. "I don't know if I can," she admitted.

Turpin's cheeks flushed in pleasure.

"That's correct," she said delightedly. "Maybe I will return the favour and won't arrest you either!"

Was she mad, Daphne wondered.

"Why are you here and not at Menai?" she asked. "Did you attack someone else?"

Turpin waved her hand impatiently. "No no, I had more important things to look to. Besides there is no reason to attack Purebloods any more. The attacks did what they were supposed to do. But," she said curiously, "I could ask you the same thing. I'm surprised you're not fighting at Menai. I thought the Ministry was throwing all its Aurors at us."

"They did," admitted Daphne. "A bit foolishly, in my opinion, but Aurors are wands in politicians' hands - not unlike you, if I'm not mistaken. After all, you have this council ordering you around, do you not?"

"Actually, I am on the council," corrected Turpin, smiling at Daphne's surprise. "So I am the wand and the arm." If she noticed Daphne's evasion of her question, she didn't say anything about it. "Hermione should be wrapping up your Aurors right about now. The only thing we were truly afraid of was that Harry Potter would show up, and he didn't, so the rest is all child's play." She hesitated for a moment - "would you like to join us for tea, Daphne?"

"Why?" asked Daphne suspiciously.

"We need a messenger," said Turpin looking at her seriously. "Hermione just captured some 50 or so purebloods and halfbloods, and a significant number of Ministry employees. The Ministry will want them back, and we'll need someone to take a message on our behalf."

Daphne debated internally for a moment. It was clear that she had no choice - if she refused, Turpin would likely just overwhelm her and she would be just another prisoner in Muggleborns' hands, for leverage against the Ministry. That was a position she didn't want to be in - the other Aurors might have people willing to ransom them off if it came to that, but Daphne had only Astoria, and she would loathe to be in her sister's debt. The best thing to do right now, she decided, was to learn more about the Muggleborns. Charging in blindly had failed miserably.

"Very well," said Daphne at last. "I accept."

"Excellent," said Turpin, clapping her hands. "I'm going to touch your forehead, to get you past the Ward of Repulsion." She reached forward and touched Daphne's forehead lightly. "Come," she said cheerfully. "It will only last a few hours, so we want to be done quickly."

She stepped into the clearing and Daphne followed her. The feeling of unease, the intense desire to turn back she had experienced the last time she broke through the Ward of Repulsion rose within her, and she was about to open her mouth to complain to Turpin when the feeling just faded away. And as it did, the clearing seemed to expand - the ground in front of her elongated as the clearing grew into two, three, four, five ... at least twenty times its size. Daphne gasped as a cluster of buildings popped into view at the center of the clearing, separated from the edge of the wards by an expanse of green grass. It was large enough to be a small town - easily larger than the town of Hogsmeade.

"Is this a magical dwelling?" she asked, unable to help herself. "You know the Ministry is mandated to keep at most one magical village in Great Britain."

"We don't care much for Ministry mandates here," said Turpin easily. "Come, follow me."

She led Daphne towards a small, winding dirt path. The summer sun, which had seemed so hot on the Straits of Menai, was much more gentle here. A cool breeze was blowing, and as it blew against Daphne's face, she felt the magic of it. She suddenly felt content, in spite of what she had experienced in the past 24 hours, and a feeling of optimism filled her. The magic of the clearing reached out to her and touched her. She felt safe. Was that feeling real, she wondered? Or was it magic, or even a trick of Turpin's?

"We had too many immigrants to house in the Muggle dwellings on Ynys Mon," said Turpin, by way of explanation. "And Muggle property is expensive and not as easy to defend. Imagine our luck when we stumbled across this place! The wards are still held up by Druidic magic, do you know? We're pretty sure that not even the Romans managed to breach it."

"_Avis_," cast Daphne raising her wand and pointing in the air. Nothing happened. Her magic shied away from her as she tried to grasp at it - she felt as helpless as a Muggle.

"Most Roman magic doesn't work here at all," said Turpin. "This is the heart of Ynys Mon, the fount of its power. No Roman magic has ever been performed here, so Magic in the area doesn't know how to treat it."

"So what kind of magic do you do here?" asked Daphne.

"Druidic Magic of course," said Turpin as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But ... but, how did you find Druidic Magic?" cried Daphne. "It's been lost for centuries."

Turpin shrugged. "Hermione found the scrolls written by the Traitor Druid Shannara when he sold out the Druids to the Romans. She translated them and came up with a workable curriculum so we could all learn it. The children are much better at it than the adults, of course. Their magic is much more malleable."

Daphne swore under her breath. For all of Hermione Granger's faults, the woman was a miracle-worker. Wherever she went, whatever field she applied herself to, breakthroughs upon breakthroughs happened. It struck her then, what an injustice the Ministry had done to itself and to Magical Britain when it chased away Hermione Granger - for she knew that even if the Muggleborns were subdued and Ynys Mon put at the disposal of the Ministry, Granger would never again work for the Ministry of Magic. It was far more likely, she mused, that the Minister would cart her off to Azkaban for a few more percentage points in his ratings.

For the first time, Daphne began to understand some of the ambivalence Harry had felt towards attacking the Muggleborns. Their genius - Granger's genius - deserved to be shared to with the world. Daphne didn't want to be the one to curtail it.

"The Magic of the Druids is a legacy of Magical Britain," said Daphne softly. "You could share it with us - in fact, you should share it with us ..."

"I see," frowned Turpin. "And tell me Daphne, how many of your Purebloods would be willing to share their family magics in return - magics that have been denied to Muggleborns for centuries."

Daphne winced and remained silent. There was nothing to say to that. She could imagine the uproar in the Wizengamot, if such a suggestion were to be brought up.

They were near the town now. Outside, Daphne could see a group of children laughing and playing. The town itself looked very ordinary - medieval-looking buildings that seemed at most one or two rooms big. The streets were unpaved dirt paths, and had they not been so clean, Daphne would have imagined herself transported to the Middle Ages.

The people, though, looked incredibly out of place. They wore modern Muggle clothes - Daphne didn't see a single person wearing Wizarding robes. Several people were out enjoying the summer weather, and Daphne saw many couples wandering down the narrow allies towards the fields outside of town.

"It's a bit broken down," said Turpin apologetically. "We've put up some runes inside of course - each house is a proper, multi-bedroom dwelling with plumbing and the like - but the outside is still what the Druids left us. We're not living like rats out here." She laughed merrily, as though the idea were ludicrous.

"Is this Roman magic?" asked Daphne.

Turpin shook her head. "Almost entirely Druidic. Our research teams have been trying to better understand Roman magic, and we've been shortlisting spells and wards that can be used on Ynys Mon. The Ward of Repulsion you saw outside is one such ward. We're not sure why some magic works better than other magic, but it does."

"But why are you using Roman magic at all?" asked Daphne. "Did the Druid Shannara's writings not contain a comprehensive work on Druidic magic?"

"There is no way to know," shrugged Turpin. "Shannara's writings are all that was passed down. In any case, the magic is severely limited in some areas. Household convenience charms are practically non-existent - we do most things the Muggle way around here."

"It makes sense," observed Daphne. "The Romans would have no interest in Druidic household charms."

"No," agreed Turpin. "But we also have very little on offensive magic. Our research teams aren't decided on whether the Druids just didn't have good offensive magic, or whether Druid Shannara just didn't write it down. The Muggle sources certainly comment often on the impotence of Druids' offensive magic - they are almost always paired with Muggle warriors and chieftains to be effective."

Daphne didn't know of any Muggle literature that existed, so she kept silent on the subject.

"What about defensive magic?" asked Daphne.

Turpin seemed to glow with pride.

"Their defensive magic is remarkable," she said proudly. "We're pretty confident that the Ministry will never be able to take Ynys Mon from us."

"The Romans succeeded once," Daphne reminded her.

"With the assistance of a rather large Muggle army," shot back Turpin. "And a traitor. Thanks to your treatment of Muggleborns, you have little chance of obtaining a traitor, and with the ICW watching, there is no way you'll be able to successfully contract the Muggles."

Turpin's good mood seemed to have evaporated with that last exchange, so Daphne kept her peace. They walked towards the center of the village, and the dirt alleys opened up into a rather large village square. At the center of the village square was an altar, shining in the midday sun.

"It's made of solid gold," said Turpin. The floor around the altar was stained with a dark maroon colour that Daphne knew was the colour of blood. Her breath hitched just a little. They crossed the village square and headed towards a large building. It had a sign hanging outside it, inscribed in a language Daphne couldn't understand. It seemed like an inn.

They entered, and when Daphne's eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw that they were in a medieval looking inn - a dim, medieval inn with electric lighting, she noted with a quirked eyebrow. It was large - much larger than the outside would have intimated, but it was still very much an inn. Turpin guided her towards the back room.

"Lisa!" cried a voice as they entered the room. It was a very familiar voice. Daphne stared neutrally at the face of Deborah Klein. "Greengrass."

"Klein," said Daphne silkily. Her instinct urged her to antagonize the Housekeeper who had cursed Harry in the back, but her inner Slytherin fought hard and suppressed her instinct. This was about survival.

There were four other people in the room. Besides Klein, Daphne recognized Justin Finch-Fletchley - another yearmate of hers at Hogwarts.

"Where did you find her?" asked Finch-Fletchley sharply. He eyed her with solid dislike, recognizing her perhaps as a Slytherin.

"Prowling outside the Repulsion Ward," said Turpin nonchalantly. "Let's wait for Hermione to get here before we begin."

Finch-Fletchley didn't look like he wanted to wait. His nostrils flared, but a sharp look from Klein silenced him. Daphne racked her brain and tried to think whether she might not have insulted him somehow while at Hogwarts. She didn't think she had.

Turpin grabbed Klein's hand and dragged her to the other side of the room whether two engaged in hushed conversation. The three nameless people looked at Daphne with varying degrees of curiosity. There were two men and one women, she noted, bringing this Council's total to seven - a clever number.

The council room was arranged in a U-shape, with three long tables arranged to form the shape of the U. There were two chairs on either side of the U, and three at its base. The tables and chairs were made from simple, hewn wood, but the chair in the center of the base of the U was ever so slightly more elaborate. There was a small mallet resting in front of the chair.

Facing this setup was a small desk with two chairs - space for petitioners, Daphne reckoned. The last unnamed woman - an elderly lady with a kindly face - beckoned her towards it, and Daphne gratefully took the seat.

It was several minutes later that Granger walked in. She looked more tired than she had out at Menai. Her bushy hair was loose and she had been breathing fast, but she looked as if she had had a brisk walk outside, rather than fought a battle for the soul of Magical Britain. Looking at Greengrass, she seemed to relax instantly.

"Oh good," she said with relief. "We spent some time looking for her before giving up. We weren't sure whether she was still on Ynys Mon."

The council members took their seats, with Granger sitting at the center of the chair. She tapped the mallet on her desk lightly.

"I call the Council of Ynys Mon to order," she said. "Council members, rise and recite your oaths."

They all rose and recited in unison, "_I do hereby swear to defend, with my life and magic, the community on Ynys Mon. Let Magic bear witness that my intent shall never be to harm, and always to aid_."

As they finished reciting, Daphne's magic prickled. From each of the council members, a gush of powerful magic emerged and flew towards the ceiling. For a moment, the ceiling and walls turned transparent, and Daphne saw the magic fly towards the altar outside, and the altar glowed as it absorbed it. Moments later, the magic was unleashed towards the sky, and a great globe was momentarily visible as it absorbed the council members' magic.

Daphne stared at this in awe until the colour returned to the walls and ceiling. She looked down to find the entire council smirking at her.

"I told you your Ministry won't take Ynys Mon from us," said Turpin, with a touch of arrogance. Daphne met her gaze and stared back with equal venom.

Granger coughed lightly, directing the room's attention towards herself. "I can give my report now, if the council wishes," she said easily.

"What about Greengrass?" frowned Finch-Fletchley. "Maybe we should remove her before hearing the report?"

"It doesn't matter," shrugged Granger. "There is little to report. As expected, the Ministry attacked with little to no information on us. The attack was led by the two youngest Weasley siblings, and we captured every single Witch and Wizard. There were no casualties on either side, although Ron Weasley attempted a Killing Curse. The defectors from the Ministry Department of Magical Law Enforcement have confirmed that we've captured the bulk of their Auror force. Anything else the Ministry can send against us will be rabble by comparison.

"Three of the Wizards in the attacking force were identified as persons wanted by this council for crimes against community members of Ynys Mon. They shall be tried and dealt with once the Council has time. Any questions?"

There didn't seem to be any, or at least there weren't any that the Council was willing to bring up in front of Daphne.

"It's good to hear that we've neutered the Ministry," frowned Klein, "but what about the ICW? Lisa, what were the results of your negotiations?"

Negotiations, Daphne wondered. Were the Muggleborns negotiating with the ICW as an independent governmental entity? She swore under her breath. The Ministry was ill-prepared to deal with a political and magical threat of this proportion, and there was still significant discontent directed towards Britain in the aftermath of the War with the Dark Lord that they would find no easy allies out there.

"Good news," said Turpin cheerfully as Daphne's heart sank. "The ICW has agreed to recognize Ynys Mon as a separate magical entity, as long as the British Ministry does so as well."

There were loud cheers from the council, and even the kindly old lady who had directed Daphne to sit down cheered as loudly as the younger members. Daphne was confused - there was no way the Ministry would cede Ynys Mon ...

"And that," said Turpin, "is where Ms Greengrass comes in. I think she would be a good person to send to the Ministry with our offer"

Outraged, Finch-Fletchley cried out, "Absolutely not! She is a Pureblood of the worst kind! Why not send someone we can respect, like Ron Weasley ..."

"Ron Weasley wouldn't remember our offer if we carved it into his skull," scoffed Granger.

She was levelling Finch-Fletchley an extremely displeased look. Daphne took note of the animosity there.

"Do you have a problem with Greengrass?" asked the kindly-faced woman pleasantly. "Perhaps if you know something we should be worried about, you should present it to the Council."

"Yes, I do," said Finch-Fletchley, almost pompously. Daphne braced herself. "Draco Malfoy is her brother-in-law!"

Daphne cursed under her breath. She knew her sister's marriage to Draco Malfoy would be the end of her! To her utter surprise - the looks of dismay in the Council members faces weren't directed at her, but at Finch-Fletchley.

"Justin dear," chided the kindly-faced woman. "We of all people should know that a person does not choose their family ... or necessarily their in-laws."

Finch-Fletchley turned purple.

"Do we have any other objections to using Greengrass as our messenger?" asked Granger. There were none, so she raised her voice. "Let the Council vote. All in favour?"

Five of seven Council members raised their hands. The only two to keep their hands down were Finch-Fletchley and Klein - Klein seemed least interested in the proceedings.

"Very well," said Granger. "Greengrass, do you yourself have any objection to carry out this role?"

Daphne was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she was quick to respond in the negative. Granger pulled a piece of Muggle paper from her pocket, and with a wave of her hand, it flew from her desk and towards Daphne, landing on her desk. Daphne picked it up and read it. It was a list of names.

"This is a list of your Aurors that we captured and are willing to return. Our terms are simple -" said Granger quietly. "If the Ministry recognized Ynys Mon as a Magical entity by nightfall, we will let you people go."

"And if the Ministry doesn't?" Daphne breathed, not really wanting to know the answer.

It was Turpin who answered in her maddeningly cheerful voice.

"Or else, they will be executed at sunset. War is war after all, isn't it, m'dear?"

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.

**Please Review!** Your reviews keep me going!


	12. Negotiations

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 12: Negotiations **

"Impossible," blustered the Minister as Daphne finished telling them the conditions laid forth by the Muggleborns. The days were long in summer, but the seven or so hours until sunset that Daphne had to convince the Ministry to recognize the Muggleborns' claim to Ynys Mon were maddeningly little in which to move a political system that predated the Magna Carta.

Besides the Minister's exclamation, there was pin-drop silence in the Wizengamot. Madam Bones looked very old standing on the side on the raised platform that faced that Wizengamot's benches. The Minister was beet-red and the members of the Wizengamot snuck glances at each other in the silence.

More than one House had an heir or a close relative amongst the prisoners taken by the Muggleborns, and none of them wanted to be the first to speak, for fear of being associated with what had fast become the greatest political disaster since the British Ministry had allowed, and even encouraged Grindlewald to rise to power. Of all the witches and wizards in the office, the only one who seemed disinterested in the proceedings was the Chief Warlock, Amos Diggory, who had lost his only son to the Triwizard Tournament before the recent War.

It was Lord Flint who spoke first - his son, Marcus Flint, had been in Ginny Weasley's team and was now held under the Muggleborns' power at Ynys Mon.

"It appears, Minister, that your government has taken the mandate taken by the Wizengamot and abused it horrifically," observed Lord Flint. "And Madam Bones - what on earth possessed you to send in the full strength of your Aurors when you little to no intelligence about an enemy you had just discovered was vastly better organized than you had believed?"

Madam Bones bowed her head. Her days in office were limited, and Daphne saw resignation in her eyes. Despite the events of the past few days, she felt bad for Madam Bones - the witch had been a good boss to her. She debated for a moment whether she should voice her defense of Madam Bones, but she checked herself - there was no use tying herself to Madam Bones' fate.

Lord Boot stood up. "This isn't the time to be pointing fingers, Flint. We need to work on a solution ..."

He was cut off by the enraged Lord Flint. "My son is held hostage by those vermin," he roared. "Don't you dare tell me what I should and should not be doing - need I remind you, your arse has only been on this body for three years!"

Daphne felt vicious satisfaction as Lord Boot - who had replaced her father on the Wizengamot - was alarmed enough to sit down. Terry Boot was also in the Muggleborns' captivity, but Lord Boot didn't see fit to bring it up, so Daphne wasn't about to either.

Amos Diggory banged his mallet on his podium.

"Order, Lord Flint," he called. "You are not the only one with an heir at stake."

Flint glared at him. Lord McLaggen - a solidly Liberal lord - stood up next.

"I propose we consider treating with them," he said grimly. "They have the upper hand."

"Normalize relations?" howled Flint. "We don't need to normalize relations, we need to burn the damn island down!"

"That island has your son on it Flint," shot back McLaggen. Theirs was an older family, and not as easily intimidated as the Boots. Flint glowered at him but made no response. "We have no army - Auror Greengrass is one of the last few Auror left at our disposal. Our gracious Minister" - he sneered at the Minister, who winced - "has put us in a very difficult position."

"There are magics we can use," hissed Flint.

"Magics that behave unpredictably on Ynys Mon," reminded McLaggen. "I highly doubt you can use even your vaunted Flint family magics to manage a clean execution while saving your son. That is the same trap our esteemed Minister fell in."

Draco Malfoy, who had been sitting back with a pensive expression on his face, now stood up. Flint looked up at him in encouragement, expecting him to agree with him.

"I agree with McLaggen," said Draco quietly. The mutterings in the hall fell silent. Utter shock darted across Flint's face, and even McLaggen looked bewildered. Malfoy, a Lord as Traditionalist as they came, had thrown his weight behind a Liberal.

"I ... er, Lord Malfoy," began McLaggen.

"Save it, McLaggen," Draco cut him off smoothly. "I have no affection for you, or for the Muggleborns, but I recognize what we must do for our world's survival. The Minister rushed into such a brazen action, because he understands that we need the Muggleborns in our world to function."

The Minister puffed out his chest and seemed to breathe easier as Draco continued.

"Our world is in shambles," continued Draco, "when we should be rebuilding it. Lord Flint recognizes that we cannot go crawling to the Muggleborns and cave to their every whim, and for that we should appreciate him. At the same time, we need to appreciate the awful situation we are in. If we react with heavy-handedness, we may lose a generation of Pureblooded wizards and witches" - he paused for dramatic effect - "my generation. The ones who were supposed to lead the Wizarding World out of darkness after our recent wars.

"Our priority must be to rescue our heirs and our Aurors. We may survive without our Muggleborn clerks - we will learn and adapt - but without our heirs, our culture will die. Without our Aurors, we will be exposed to further aggression by the Muggleborns. We must get them back."

There were murmurs of approval throughout the hall.

"What do you propose, Lord Malfoy?" came a voice.

"I propose we cede Ynys Mon," said Draco evenly. "The Isle is only of cultural importance to us - we haven't lived there for over a millennium. If the Magic on Ynys Mon hampers their children's magical development as we believe it should, our children won't have a hostile Ynys Mon to deal with. If it doesn't," he smirked, "it still buys us time. Every shield has a weak point. Ynys Mon won't have the upper hand forever."

He sat down, resting his case. Daphne saw more than a few of the younger lords looking admiringly towards Draco, and she had to admit, her brother-in-law had handled the situation exceptionally well. She was glad for her sister that he was setting himself up to be a powerful man in their world.

Lord Flint stood up, and the whole hall seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his response.

"I second Lord Malfoy's proposal," he said listlessly, and he sat back down, shoulders hunched. He looked a defeated man.

"All in favour?" asked the Chief Warlock.

The members of the Wizengamot raised their wands, and the vote was unanimous. Ynys Mon was ceded by the British Ministry of Magic to the Council of Ynys Mon.

"Auror Greengrass," he continued. "You are authorized to communicate the will of the Wizengamot to the Council of Ynys Mon. Report back here within the hour, and the court scribe will provide you with an official document. The Wizengamot will break for recess."

Daphne stepped away with relief. An hour, what would she do for an hour? The face of her world was changing, and she felt nothing but numbness.

She would have forgotten about it, had it not been for Draco. He pushed his way past several of the Wizengamot members and grabbed her by the elbow, leading her firmly past the door and into a secluded hallway.

"Potter," he said facing her. Daphne started. In the events of the day, she had almost completely forgotten about her partner who was in a Ministry holding cell.

"What about him?" she asked.

"The Minister is going to throw him under the bus," said Draco seriously. "He's trying to save his job, and he's going to paint a picture that Potter betrayed us."

"How do you know he didn't?" asked Daphne suspiciously.

Draco snorted. "Potter is a lot of things, but he's not intelligent enough to be a spy. There's too much Gryffindor in him."

"And why are you trying to help him?" she said uneasily. "You've both been rivals."

Draco's laugh was clear and dry.

"Rivals, yes," he said, amused. "But what is a Slytherin who cannot use his rivals? The Wizengamot doesn't realize this, but I am going for the long game, Daphne. I'm going to bring Ynys Mon down. Do you know how?" He leaned in towards her, breathing heavily, and Daphne felt his breath on her face. "This is just the start. I'm going to throw open the borders. Normalize relations. Repeal the worst anti-Muggleborn laws, reduce enforcement of the rest. Make our world welcoming again."

"To what end?" Daphne asked. "They have their own land now, they don't need us, nor we them. We can cart off every Muggleborn to Ynys Mon - develop the Pureblooded society the Dark Lord envisioned ..."

"The Dark Lord was a fool," hissed Draco, his eyes glinting. "A nobility is built on the back of a lower class - you cannot eliminate the lower class and expect the nobility to keep standing. Their Council is green and inexperienced. Our politicians are honed in wile and trickery. This won't be a war of wands, it will be a war of words and diplomacy. Ynys Mon will fall again."

In that moment, Daphne fully believed her brother-in-law. Revolution was well-intentioned when it was started, but it almost always ended in the involved parties squabbling for leftovers. Mature societies evolved safeguards so that they would continue functioning despite the short-sightedness of its politicians and the selfishness of individuals. A completely new community, one without safeguards that evolved over centuries, would fall. Maybe not now, maybe not this year, maybe not even this decade. But in time, they would trip and stumble, and if their enemies happened to be strong enough at the time, they would be overpowered.

"Just do me a favour," continued Draco. "Tell Potter that I told you to let him go."

She could only nod, so spellbound was she. Draco nodded at her curtly and walked away, his cloak bellowing behind him.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Harry didn't know how long he had been in that cell. He had woken up barely an hour ago, and the last thing he had remembered was being pushed against the ground by his erstwhile partner and stunned in the back. He knew it was a stunner because of the flash of red light that he remembered, and he recognized the telltale headache that always came after being stunned.

He searched his pockets, and they came up empty. Greengrass - he supposed she was Greengrass again - hadn't made the same mistake he had with Turpin, he thought bitterly. He felt incredibly bitter - prejudice he had felt against Slytherins, prejudice he thought he was being an adult by growing beyond came raring back, reminding him of a time when no one wearing green at Hogwarts was to be trusted.

They had been smarter at Hogwarts, he decided grimly. He reached for his magic, and the magic-suppressing wards on the cell flared. At full strength, he would have been able to brush away the mediocre-strength wards, but in his current state, with his pounding headache, he couldn't concentrate, and the magic was quickly forced back into him

There was nothing to do but bide his time. He knew he could break out easily enough, but he didn't know how he would recover his wand, or escape from the Ministry building. In any case, to accomplish either of those feats, he would need a clear head.

And so, he sat and rested. He meditated, the way he had learned to do for Occlumency, and pushed away at his thoughts. Slowly, bit by bit, the fog in his brain receded and the throbbing in his head lessened. So engrossed was he in his meditation that he didn't notice a click in the lock on his cell door.

It was the clearing of her throat that roused him to attention. He opened his eyes, and they narrowed as they saw who it was.

"Greengrass."

She looked hurt, almost, as though she hadn't deserved to lose his friendship.

"The Minister has decided to throw you under the bus, Harry," she said quietly.

He laughed out loud.

"And now you're here to crow over me?" he asked, amused. "Ron was right about you, you know. Never trust a Slytherin."

"Look, Potter, it's not what it looks like," she hissed angrily.

"You cursed me in the back," he said loudly. "What should it look like?"

"And what did you expect me to do?" she retorted. "Refuse to arrest you, and be arrested with you? Or do you think I should have let you beat me? Perhaps you would have, Potter, in a fair fight - in fact, you likely would have, but what then? Did you plan to fight through the 30 or so Aurors that were directly outside Madam Bones' office? You call me a Slytherin, but you were being nothing less than a foolhardy, stupid Gryffindor."

"I'm not stupid," he said automatically, but he didn't know what else to say. He certainly felt stupid just then, though he wasn't sure whether he felt stupid for trusting Greengrass, or because a small part of him recognized the merit in her argument.

"Of course not," she said sarcastically. "I'm sure you had a plan in mind."

He growled and reached for his magic again. The magic suppression ward flared and fought against him, but this time he fought back. His mind was clear enough that he managed to keep pushing, and with an almighty heave, the wards shattered. He raised his hand and Greengrass' wand sailed out of her robes and into his hand.

"Maybe I did have a plan," he said coldly, pointing it at her.

She looked furious.

"You're an idiot, Potter," she raged. "I'm here to help you get out."

He looked at her skeptically. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Yes!" she said angrily. "Do you think no one would notice if you brought down the wards like that? There are monitors built in ..."

The Stunning spell was on Harry's lips when her demeanour seemed to change. She relaxed and took a step back, raising her hands in surrender.

"Tell you what, Harry - you're a leglimens. Why don't you use leglimency on me, and judge for yourself what my intentions are?" she asked. The change in address didn't go unnoticed by Harry.

"You would let me in?" he asked dubiously.

She nodded.

"You're my partner, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm no Ron Weasley - I can't stand back-to-back with you, and fight through the entire Auror department. But I do have a brain, and some of that fabled Slytherin cunning - I want to help you, and you have to understand that my help might come in ways you didn't anticipate or expect."

He brushed against her mental shields using passive leglimency. Her shields were still up, but he sensed some emotions leaking through. Fear, desperation, honesty.

She lowered her shields at his mental touch, and they locked eyes and he entered her mind. She pushed her memory of stunning him to the forefront of her mind. He saw what she did, and though he couldn't read her thoughts at her time, he sensed her emotions - worry, indecision and hesitation. He saw through her mind a condensed version of the events that happened after, flavoured with Daphne's emotions - he saw the Minister's organized attack on Ynys Mon, and he couldn't help but feel proud of how Hermione completely demolished Ron and Ginny's forces. He saw the events that had taken place at the clearing in Ynys Mon, and the debriefing she had given the Wizengamot, and the conclusion that they came to.

Without any words, he pulled out of her mind and handed her her wand. He knew what had happened now - there had been no elaborate scheme from Daphne to get him arrested. She had been in a position in which there was no clear answer, and she concluded that it was better for one of them to be on the Ministry's bad side, rather than both. Her decision had been cemented by her own - excessive, in Harry's opinion - respect of the Ministry and its authority, but that was just her nature. More than anything, he realized that the past few days had been stressful and emotionally traumatizing for her - and that made it easier to forgive her.

Daphne took her wand back and hesitated for a moment.

"There is one more thing," she said quietly. "Draco told me the Minister was going to accuse you of being a spy. He wanted me to help you, and for you to know that he had helped you."

Harry looked at her suspiciously. "Are you here because of him?"

She looked guilty. "Yes. No. I meant to figure out a way to get you out. Perhaps I am here because of him in the sense that I didn't know the danger you were in until he told me about it. Would I have tried to help you if he hadn't? Yes, I would have. Perhaps not so explicitly and not at such great risk, but yes. Somehow."

He reached out with his leglimency again and detected unabashed honesty.

"Why would Malfoy want to help me anyway?"

Daphne shrugged. "Not out of any love for you, I'm sure," she said calmly. "He's not a schoolyard rival anymore, Harry - his agenda is grown beyond that. I'm sure having you free and on Ynys Mon serves his purposes in some way."

She took out a familiar stone from her pocket and tapped it lightly with her wand. It glowed green.

"Family magic?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"You know it," she answered with a slight smile, handing it over to him. Her hand brushed over his, and he clasped it.

"Come with me," he offered. She shook her head.

"This is my home," she said sadly. "I would never be welcomed with the Muggleborns, as they have never been completely welcome here. For all their vaunted ideals, humans are humans - even Muggleborn humans."

Harry didn't have to look into her mind to know that she was thinking of Klein and Justin Finch-Fletchley's reaction to her presence in the Council's room. With some reluctance, he let go of her hand.

"I'll write," he promised.

"Make sure you do," she responded, raising her hand in farewell as he felt the tug of a conventional portkey around his navel and the Ministry holding cell disappeared around him.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. If you like what you've read so far, I encourage you to follow the story and drop me a review. If you don't like the story, or have any recommendations for improvements to my writing style or my English, I would love hear them.


	13. Head of the DMLE

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 1****3****: ****Head of the DMLE**

When Harry disappeared, Daphne hurried out of the cell and back to the upper levels of the Ministry. The hallways were completely empty, revealing the extent to which the Ministry's police forces were held hostage at Ynys Mon. In fact, contrary to her statement to Harry, she didn't think anyone was monitoring the magic suppression wards in the holding cells – the wizards whose job it normally was were all at Ynys Mon.

The events of the past few days weighed on her mind. She had almost certainly lost Harry as her partner – she couldn't see a clean way for him to return to Britain, much less regain employment at the Ministry of Magic. There was one big hurdle to overcome now – retrieving the Aurors from Ynys Mon. Once that was accomplished, maybe, just maybe, she could relax again and things would go back to normal.

The ornate doors of the Wizengamot's chambers loomed ahead of her. She checked her watch. Releasing Harry had taken a little longer than she had expected and she was about a half hour late to the Wizengamot. She hoped no one would ask too many questions.

The doors opened before she could reach them, and a harried looking clerk rushed outside. He started on seeing Daphne and jerked to a halt in front of her.

"Oh, Auror Greengrass! They sent me to look for you! Congratulations, congratulations!"

He spoke fast that she could barely understand him.

"Congratulations?" she asked. "For what?"

But the clerk seemed too excited to respond and he ushered her inside. The members of the Wizengamot were all seated, excepting Amos Diggory who was standing at his Chief Warlock's podium. Madam Bones was sitting in a conjured chair on the side and the Minister was talking amiably to Lord Flint who was understandable agitated and seemed to have little interest in talking to the Minister.

The rumble of conversation in hall implied that the Wizengamot was not at attention yet. Daphne heaved a sigh of relief – maybe the recess had gone longer than originally planned as well. But then why did the clerk congratulate her? Her inner Slytherin reared its head in panic – she didn't like not having information.

Diggory looked up at her with an unpleasant look on his face and banged his mallet on the podium.

"Order, order," he called and the Hall quietened down. "Auror Greengrass, please approach the Wizengamot."

Daphne shivered and walked up to the podium, surveying the hall. Most of the faces looked on at her in interest; she wondered why – she had done nothing of interest during the recess that they should have known of. Draco looked triumphant and she nodded to him slightly to indicate the success of her mission.

Steeling herself, she addressed the Wizengamot.

"I apologize for my lateness," she said, lowering her gaze, feeling chastised even though she had not been chastised. "I am at the Wizengamot's service."

"Auror Greengrass," said Amos Diggory. "The Wizengamot and the Office of the Minister are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to fill Madam Bones' role as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Daphne's jaw dropped. Draco's smirk was full-blown now, as if he had orchestrated this all. It was very likely, Daphne thought, that he had.

Amos Diggory continued, "You are aware of the requirements and responsibilities of this role. Will you accept this offer?"

Daphne didn't feel particularly aware of what all Madam Bones' responsibilities had been – she had been very particular about steering clear of the politics of the DMLE and focusing on doing her job and just her job exceptionally well. That's why she had risen so fast to be one of the best Aurors in the Ministry, but that didn't imply she would be a good Head of Department!

Old insecurities flared and she felt tongue-tied again.

"Auror Greengrass, are you quite all right?" asked Amos Diggory nastily. "Perhaps we should get you to a Healer?"

The derision is his tone helped Daphne find her voice again.

"I'm quite all right, Chief Warlock," she said shortly.

"Well then, do you accept this offer?" he sneered.

It would be suicide for her career not to.

"I do," she said quietly. "But if it's all right with the Wizengamot, I would like to keep Madam Bones in the Department in an advisory capacity."

Diggory waved his hand in impatience.

"How you run your Department is not the concern of the Wizengamot," he said coolly, causing Daphne to blush in embarrassment. "The court clerk will provide you with a written notice accepting the terms of the Muggleborns of Ynys Mon. Please proceed as directed and report to the Wizengamot on your return. You are dismissed."

The man who had been sent to find her hurried forward and thrust an expensive-looking roll of parchment that had the Ministry seal on it into her hands. With a respectful nod towards the members of the Wizengamot, she strode out of the room with Madam Bones following closely behind her.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daphne's portkey took Harry to that familiar spot near the clearing in the forest on Ynys Mon. The Magic in the clearing sang out to him, reaching for him, inviting him to dance with it. What a different feeling it was from when he had first come here with Daphne! He made a mental note to ask Hermione, if he got a chance, the effect of intent on Drudic defensive magic, for surely it was responding to his need for sanctuary.

He edged towards the clearing until he felt the Repulsion Ward trigger and he didn't resist his body's sudden urge to turn back. Outside of the perimeter once again, the Magic spoke to him, and this time he closed his eyes and listened.

If it spoke in words, he couldn't understand them. What he could understand was the flowing instinct of the Magic, what it was asking him to do. Ordinarily, he would have resisted the whisperings of strange Magics that he did not understand, but today he was tired, today he felt like listening and obeying, so he did as the Magic asked and opened his core just a bit. A little bit wouldn't hurt, right?

He felt a slice of pain, as if there was a hook had sunk into his core, and then -

"Harry!"

Just like that, the spell was broken. He got up in alarm – he hadn't even realized that he was lying down – and faced Hermione.

"How did you know I was here?"

She smirked at him.

"The Wards on Ynys Mon are strong," she said, purposefully avoiding his question. She was smiling but there was a look of wariness in her eyes. She didn't know why he was there.

"Can I stay here?" he asked, in response to the unspoken question. He began, stumbling over his words, to tell her what had happened since he had seen her last, afraid that she would turn him away, when Hermione reached forward and put her finger on his lips.

"You once told me you would never raise a wand against me, Harry," she said gently. "The least I can do is hear you out. Come inside and tell me your story. I'll find a place for you to stay, if not here then elsewhere."

She pushed her finger against his forehead, and a warm feeling of acceptance - was it from Hermione or the island? - washed over him.

"Come," she said, guiding him past the Repulsion Ward.

As it had for Daphne, the clearing expanded in front of Harry. They walked in silence, Harry taking in the sheer natural beauty of the little village and its surroundings, and Hermione letting him enjoy it.

"It feel like this is how magical life should be," he said, finally. Hermione merely smiled and said nothing.

They reached the village. Harry recognized more than one face in the crowds milling around. Hermione didn't let him get too close to people and ducked into the darker, narrow alleys, leading him to the entrance to a small cottage.

"I thought you lived on the island proper?" asked Harry curiously.

"I do," she acquiesced. "The earlier immigrants bought Muggle houses on the island, but when we discovered the clearing, we were allotted a small house each as well."

The cottage screamed of Hermione much as the house on Ynys Mon had, except that it was much smaller. From the outside it seemed like a small, spartan, one-room unit. When Harry stepped in, he wasn't surprised to see it much larger on the inside, as Wizarding dwellings are wont to be. In trademark Hermione fashion, everything was neat and in its place. The layout was, in fact, very similar to Hermione's cottage on the Muggle portion of the island.

"How do you get all the Muggle appliances to work in all this magic?" he asked in wonder.

She grinned at him. "Magic. Tea?"

He accepted, and a few moments later Hermione handed him a steaming cup of tea.

"Now talk," she ordered, and he began his story, telling her how he had gone to Mrs Weasley for advice, the confrontation with the Minister and Madam Bones, Daphne's presumed betrayal, and finally how she had rescued him and sent him back to Ynys Mon.

She listened in silence, sipping her tea, until he had finished.

"I see," she said at last. "You must understand Harry, this is a democracy. Even as the head of the Council, I can't do very much by executive order. The Council will hear your case and decide whether to offer you citizenship." She hesitated. "If it doesn't work out, I have some contacts in France or Bulgaria ..."

"Thank you Hermione," he said gratefully. "When can the Council hear my case?"

She checked her watch. "Why, right now in fact!" she said with a smile. "That's one of the benefits of having the Head of the Council as your friend; I can expedite your case!"

She got up, and Harry pulled out his wand to clean the tea cups.

"That won't work," said Hermione, as Harry cast the spell. To both of their surprise the cups twitched. They didn't clean, but they twitched.

"That usually doesn't happen," admitted Hermione. She pulled out her wand and tried the spell - this time the cups didn't respond. "Try again," she instructed.

He did so, and again the cups twitched - this time a little more forcefully. And maybe Harry was imagining it, but he thought the cups did look a little bit cleaner.

"Maybe it's because of the size of my magical core?" asked Harry.

"Maybe," said Hermione, but she didn't look too convinced. "Let's go to the meeting."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The Council began its session with the recitation of the oath of Ynys Mon that Harry had seen in Daphne's memories.

"I do hereby swear to defend, with my life and magic, the community on Ynys Mon. Let Magic bear witness that my intent shall never be to harm, and always to aid."

What he hadn't expected though, was the turbulence it would cause to his magic. As the magic from the Council members shot through the transparent roof and towards the dome, empowering it, Harry felt his magic agitate. It screamed at him to free it, to let go, and to join the magic of the Council members. The slice of pain he had felt outside the clearing returned, more painful than ever, and for a while he felt unable to hold back his magic.

It wasn't until the ritual was over did the pain recede enough that he could make out what the Council members were saying. It was clear that Hermione had already presented his case. The lady with the kindly face was speaking.

"I have no opposition to it on a personal level," she said, "but I worry about the precedence it sets in our community. How many other halfbloods and purebloods will come, claiming sanctuary and protection, citing Mr Potter's case? How many will be plants from the Ministry, seeking to undermine us?"

"How do we know Potter isn't that plant," said Finch-Fletchley, throwing a suspicious look in his direction. For a Hufflepuff, Finch-Fletchley had always been very combative. Harry remember how he and Ernie MacMillan had turned a sizable portion of the Hufflepuffs against him in Second Year during the Chamber of Secrets incident.

"You have my word that he's not," said Hermione sharply.

"Unfortunately that's not enough for the Council," said Turpin lazily. Her personality was such, that her words drew the attention of the entire room towards her, and they now waited for her to speak.

She was lounging in her chair, feet thrown on the table in a way that would have been despicably casual to the Wizengamot, twirling her wand nonchalantly in a way that seemed almost staged. There was an expression of boredom on her face that would have made the haughtiest Pureblood proud.

She swung her legs over her chair, sitting upright again and gazed attentively at Harry, resting her elbows on the table.

"What can you do for us, Potter?" she asked.

There was a glint in her eye that made Harry feel like a mouse being backed into a corner by a giant, predatory cat.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

Turpin leaned back in her chair, eying him contemplatively.

"You're asking for a big exception to our customary rules," she pointed out. "Think of it as a bargain: we are giving you the protection of Ynys Mon and our sanctuary, and at a potentially high cost, given the dangerous precedent we are setting. What will you give us in return?"

"Lisa!" protested Hermione. "We settled on Ynys Mon with the intent of providing a safe haven to wizards and witches persecuted by Britain ..."

"Wizards and witches with no other means of recourse," interrupted Turpin, without taking her eyes off Harry. "The fabled Potter Family fortune is enough recourse in my eyes that I don't feel obliged to help Potter. I'm sure he could get away with greasing the right palms in Britain; that is the way of Purebloods, after all."

Harry stood up in anger.

"If you are suggesting I buy my way into sanctuary here," he said hotly, ignoring Hermione's pleading look, "that will not be happening."

"Then I suggest you find your way elsewhere, Potter," retorted Finch-Fletchley. At least some of the Council members nodded with him. "This is a country for Muggleborns, not members of Ancient and Noble families."

Harry opened his mouth again, but Hermione banged her mallet on the table, interrupting him.

"Let us try and keep it civil," she said coolly, levelling a glare at Finch-Fletchley who stared back at her stonily. "Does anyone besides Lisa and Justin have anything to say?"

The kindly-faced lady spoke again.

"I don't see a reason to decide anything right now," she said. "We are in the middle of a high-stakes negotiation with the British Ministry, and frankly, while we feel for Mr Potter, we cannot give him the attention he deserves right now. I propose we table the issue until a later date. In the meanwhile, perhaps Mr Potter can stay in your home on the Muggle part of the island, Hermione? You seem to be the most invested in his safety, and with reasonable precautions, Mr Potter should be adequately safe there."

As if on cue, a loud ping sounded from within the Council room.

"The Perimeter Ward," said Turpin, looking up in interest. "It might be our dear Auror Greengrass; I shall go fetch her."

"Sit down, Lisa," said Hermione irritably. "Let us decide on Harry's issue first; Greengrass can wait a few moments. I have no objection to hosting Harry in my house for the time being. All in favour?"

It was almost a negative vote. Hermione, the kindly lady, one of the witches Harry didn't recognize raised their hands. Hermione looked crestfallen and was about to say something when Turpin casually raised her hand.

"Motion passed," said Hermione in relief. Harry stared at Turpin in confusion while Justin Finch-Fletchley looked utterly shocked.

"Frankly, I just want to get on the Ministry issue," said Turpin in response to the questioning looks. "I do suggest that you think long and hard about what you can contribute to Ynys Mon, Potter. It will greatly help your case."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Thank you," he said finally.

Hermione summoned a small stone, muttered a quick spell on it and handed it to Harry.

"This will take you to my cottage," she said. "Wait for me there; I will be home later tonight."

Nodding his thanks, Harry accepted the stone. The last thing he noticed as he disappeared in a flash of colour was that the familiar tug of portkeys around his navel was, again, absent.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daphne's portkey took her and Madam Bones to the edge of the wards around the clearing. It had been many years since Madam Bones had been on the field, but she was reputedly quick with her wand and Daphne was wise enough to trust Madam Bones' experience over her own position of authority. Madam Bones' soft gasp indicated that she, too, felt the magic of the clearing.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" asked Daphne amused.

"If I had known," said Madam Bones softly, closing her eyes, revelling in the feeling of the Magic, "I would have believed you over the Minister. I apologize, Gree- Madam Greengrass. And er … I do appreciate your decision to keep me on as an advisor."

Daphne winced at the use of the address, but years of training in Slytherin House had taught her enough to not sabotage her new position by protesting the title.

"It's quite alright, Madam Bones," she said, careful to keep her voice composed. "It is better to look forwards than backwards."

She pursed her lips and pressed forward, until the Repulsion Ward kicked in and forced her back. Now it was a matter of waiting.

Several minutes later, still no one had showed up. Madam Bones frowned.

"Perhaps we need to trigger their wards somehow? Do you think a spell would work?"

Daphne gestured for her to try. Madam Bones pulled out her wand and cast, "_Flipendo_!"

It was an appropriate choice of spell, Daphne noted. Offensive enough that it would trigger some wards, but not bad enough to bring the worst of their backlash. The spell flew into the clearing, and like Harry's tracking charm, it fizzled away in midair.. Madam Bones drew a shocked breath.

"Trying to break through our wards?" came an oily voice behind them, and Daphne whirled around clutching her wand. It was Lisa Turpin. "You won't succeed."

"Turpin," said Daphne icily.

Turpin clapped her hands in delight.

"And look, you brought the Head of the Department! We must be really big fish in the eyes of the Wizengamot, if they sent Madam Bones herself to talk to us!"

She was mad, Daphne thought. Barking mad.

"We have your declaration," said Madam Bones, indicating the ornate roll of parchment Daphne was carrying. "Please bring our Aurors to the mainland at the Straits of Menai to facilitate the exchange."

Turpin howled in laughter.

"You must think us mad to step foot on the mainland," she said, smiling widely. "With your wands trained on us, your Wardmasters at hand? No, I think we will have to make the exchange on Ynys Mon, on our side of the bridge."

She stared at Madam Bones, and Madam Bones stared back with equal resolve. It was a contest of wills, augmented by Magic, but here on Ynys Mon, Magic was on Turpin's side. Madam Bones was the first to look away.

"Very well," she said quietly. "We will meet you on your side of the Bridge of Menai."

Turpin smiled warmly.

"See? That wasn't so hard!" she said, turning now towards Daphne. "May I see the parchment?"

Daphne shook her head. "You may see it when we see our prisoners."

Turpin clenched her teeth, but conceded.

"In an hour then," she said shortly, whirling around and marching back into the clearing. Daphne released a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daphne and Madam Bones took Daphne's portkey back to the Ministry, They entered the Department of Magical Law Enforecement and Daphne was about to march into the office she shared with Harry when Madam Bones tapped her on the shoulder and gestured towards the office of the Head of Department.

Daphne eyed the larger door for a moment before turning away from it.

"Perhaps after we have the Aurors back," she said softly, glancing around the empty Department. They were the only two people there. "Let us stick to my old office for now."

They walked in, and Daphne felt a pang when she looked at Harry's desk which was still as it had been when they had gone into Madam Bones' - now Daphne's - office. Papers were spread across his desk, and in a corner, a toy snitch was feebly beating its wings. Crumpled in the center of the desk was the parchment ball that he and Daphne had occasionally played catch with, while bouncing ideas off of each other.

The sound of Madam Bones clearing her throat brought her back to the present and she shook her head. There was an uphill battle ahead of them still, and the past was only a distraction.

"Right," said Daphne, gesturing for Madam Bones to take the guest chair. She herself sat behind her desk and steepled her fingers, deep in thought.

At the moment, her resources were herself and Madam Bones, and their wands. Their wands wouldn't be useful on Ynys Mon, so she would need to use her mind to stay ahead of the Muggleborns.

She looked up to Madam Bones, who was waiting patiently for her to begin.

"We don't have much time before we should leave for Ynys Mon. Do you think there is a way for us to …" Daphne hesitated, not sure how to phrase the next part of her question, "twist the situation to our advantage?"

Madam Bones raised her eyebrow delicately.

"You mean to ask whether we can doublecross the Muggleborns?" she asked.

Daphne blushed to hear her question phrased so crassly. Madam Bones had been a Hufflepuff.

"I meant more to ask how we can make sure we are not doublecrossed," she said. That was not at all what she had meant, but she knew Madam Bones' sense of fairplay would not allow her to explore less savoury avenues. That had been the hallmark of her reign in the Department even during the War with the Dark Lord, and the Ministry had been severely hampered by it. For a moment Daphne regretted taking on Madam Bones as her advisor, but then she dismissed that thought. There were plenty of uses for the older woman.

"If they wanted to doublecross us, we were at Turpin's mercy ten minutes ago," pointed out Madam Bones. "It is better for us to stick to the agreement and trust them to stick to it as well - they have the upper hand and our hands are tied."

She was right, Daphne knew, but she wasn't ready to write off the possibilities of what could be, what she could make happen. Her mind was churning already.

"All the same, we should have our bases covered," said Daphne, grabbing her quill and piece of pink parchment. She scribbled a note on it, describing the outcome of their encounter with Turpin. Tapping it with her wand, she muttered a spell and Draco's name, and the parchment transformed into a memo and flew out of her office.

"Draco Malfoy?" asked Madam Bones. "Why do you need to report to him?"

There was a challenge in her voice and Daphne rose to it.

"Who would you have me report to?" she shot back, icily. "If something should happen to us, I would want someone to be informed of what our intentions were, and frankly, I'd sooner trust my brother-in-law than the Minister."

Madam Bones said nothing.

"Now," Daphne continued. "I think it makes sense for you to continue to pretend to be the Head of the DMLE in front of the Muggleborns. There is no reason to disclose anything to them other than what is strictly necessary. We'll go in, get the Aurors and get out. If something untoward happens, use your best judgement."

A strange expression crossed the older lady's face. A reaction, Daphne mused, at being ordered around by a woman who had been her underling hours before. At the same time, she was putting a whole lot of faith in Madam Bones, and she hoped Madam Bones appreciated that.

"Very well," she said at last. "Do we need to create a portkey to bring the Aurors back?"

"An ordinary portkey won't work on Ynys Mon," said Daphne grimly, "but I'll arrange a means of transportation."

She fetched a length of rope from the supply closet in the Department that was kept specifically for that purpose. Touching her wand to the floor of the Department first and then to the rope, she murmured an incantation and the rope glowed green, indicating the spell had been successful.

Her mind turned to the remainder of the Greengrass family magics. As the firstborn Greengrass, they were Daphne's by right, but Astoria had taken them when she got married, citing the security of Malfoy Manor versus Daphne's small cottage, and at the time Daphne had been so overwhelmed by the preparations for the wedding that she had not thought to protest too much. She groaned out loud - maybe would have to pay a dinner visit to Astoria after all.

"Shall we?" she asked. It was a little early, but they would have to apparate some distance from Ynys Mon, walk to the Straits of Menai, and cross the bridge on foot.

Madam Bones got up, and making sure they had the Ministry's acknowledgement of the Independence of Ynys Mon and their portkey back, the pair vanished with two soft pops. It was time to retrieve the Aurors.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for reading. **Confession time:** I actually had an epilogue written out that I was going to post instead of this chapter, but after absolutely 0 reviews indicated that any readers were anticipating an end to the story, I was forced to conclude that I was ending at a very bad juncture. It took me some time to develop an extended storyline that I am now fleshing out. I did promise a complete story though, so if anyone is interested in reading the original epilogue, I can post it as an outtake.

**Update Policy:** Updates will be a little slower now that I am actively writing, but it's winter and I have a slow few months up ahead. My current goal is to update every other week.

**Please Review**! Your reviews keep me going.


	14. The Fate of Marcus Flint

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 1****4: The Fate of Marcus Flint**

The sun was starting to set when Madam Bones and Daphne apparated to a small Muggle town not far from the Bridge of Menai. The west sky was flushed crimson and towards the east, the first stars of the night were starting to appear. Their journey was westwards though, towards the dying light. A cool breeze blew behind them, towards Ynys Mon.

The Muggle town had shaken the effects of the Ministry's wardmaster's spells and was winding down for the evening. Its inhabitants were out in force, enjoying what was left of their shorter-than-usual day and the good weather. After the sweltering heat of the morning, it was a pleasant change.

Madam Bones huffed to keep up with Daphne. Most wizards and witches didn't take particularly good care of their bodies, choosing instead to rely on spells and potions to reverse the ill effects of their lifestyles on their bodies. Daphne, however, was very particular about her fitness.

It was really a matter of attitude, she thought. Most wizards believed that magic was innate to their bodies, so they trusted magic to take care of their bodies. A small minority believed that humans weren't born with magic, but magic was gifted to them. Daphne didn't care either way. She had observed significant improvements to her spellcasting ability and her stamina in duels at the Auror Academy because of the mandatory fitness regimen. After graduating, she had kept up the routine where most of her classmates had stopped sooner or later, and the results had showed.

They crossed the bridge on the footpath the Muggles had made for walking. Daphne tried not to jump every time a Muggle vehicle passed her; she had been exposed to them during her various cases, but there was little that unnerved her as much as the Muggle automobile.

"Where to now?" asked Madam Bones as they stepped onto Ynys Mon. It was exactly an hour since they had left Turpin, and in the distance Daphne saw the sun hit the horizon.

"Follow me."

They started to hear the voice, the voice of a witch who had disappeared long ago from Magical Britain.

"Hermione Granger," Daphne said.

"Daphne Greengrass," answered Granger primly. She was dressed in a hooded white robe unlike any other wizarding robe Daphne had seen. When she made eye contact, Daphne saw a power blazing in her eyes that made her wish very strongly that she was anywhere in the world but Ynys Mon. A quick glance at Madam Bones revealed a fearful look on her face as well.

Granger turned around and headed towards a glade of trees, beckoning at the pair of British witches to follow her. More than once, Daphne felt the feeling of unknown Magic washing over her, but she ignored the sensations and kept her eyes firmly on Granger, who was gliding in front of them ... gliding, Daphne realized, much like a dementor. A white dementor.

They reached the glade, and as they stepped through it, the earth itself seemed to shift around them, and they found themselves standing in the middle of a medium-sized clearing. In the center of the clearing was an altar, pristine and made of gold. It was identical to the one Daphne had seen in the village square where the Muggleborns were residing. The Muggleborn Council, clad in the same white robes as Granger, stood behind the altar, and behind the Council, bound and gagged, were the forces of Magical Britain. They looked unharmed for the most part, although Daphne noticed that Ron Weasley had a giant bruise on his cheek.

"Welcome!" cried Turpin in a voice that made Daphne feel not welcome at all. "As you can see, here are your wizards and witches. Now the parchment, please?"

Daphne glanced at Madam Bones, who nodded encouragingly at her. The parchment flew out of her robes and into Turpin's outstretched hand. Turpin broke the seal, unfurled the parchment, and read it loud.

"The Ministry of Magic of Great Britain (Ministry) recognizes and affirms the right of the Council of Ynys Mon (Council) to govern the Isle of Ynys Mon within the jurisdiction of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of this realm, pursuant to the following conditions:

"The Council shall release all witches and wizards in the employ of the Ministry to the Representatives of the Ministry bearing this scroll, and shall henceforth cease all unlawful actions in lands under the Jurisdiction of the Ministry.

"At the next session of the International Council of Wizards (ICW), the Council shall provide a delegation empowered to treat with the Ministry regarding the terms and conditions of entry and conduct of the citizens of Ynys Mon in the lands governed by the Ministry and vice versa. Until then, citizens of Ynys Mon are barred from entering the jurisdiction of the Ministry."

Silence reigned in the clearing. Daphne was startled - she had not known that the Ministry had tacked on extra conditions. Turpin, for once, seemed unsure of herself as well, and Daphne saw her sneak a glance at Granger. Granger herself was unmoved.

"We didn't authorize these extra conditions," said Turpin at last.

Madam Bones stepped forward.

"They are not for you to authorize," she said calmly. "You wanted independence, did you not? That means you are no longer citizens of Wizarding Britain ..."

"We are still subjects of Her Majesty, the Queen," cut in Finch-Fletchley.

"Perhaps you would like to bring that up to Her Majesty," shot back Madam Bones, icily. "And while you do that, pray that Her Majesty doesn't ask questions about vigilante attacks against, and the cold-blooded murder of her subjects."

Turpin opened her mouth to argue, but Granger stepped forward and laid a calming hand on her arm.

"We understand the necessity on your part, Madam Bones," she said softly. There was an edge of power in her voice as it resonated through the clearing. Daphne realized in that moment what was happening - Granger was being used as a vessel for the Magic on the island. What could they be doing? "As subjects of Her Majesty, we maintain our right to roam her country. However, as a sign of goodwill and respect, we will refrain from entering non-Muggle communities until terms can be agreed upon at the ICW meeting."

"Very well," said Madam Bones, and to the shock of the British witches, a wave of vibrant, visible magic swept through the clearing, washing over them and over the Council.

"What was that?" hissed Daphne, edging closer to Madam Bones.

"A magically binding agreement," answered Turpin. Daphne started, for Turpin was several yards away and ought not have heard her. "We will now begin the transfer of the prisoners."

Granger was standing in front of the altar, head bowed, murmuring words. The magic in the clearing surged as her murmurs grew into words - words in an unknown language - and the words grew louder into a chant. Overhead, thunder crackled and magic surged through Daphne, making her feel alive in a way she had only felt in the forest outside the village on Ynys Mon.

Another Council member - Daphne recognized her as the kindly-faced lady who had reprimanded Finch-Fletchley, stepped forward and handed Granger a pouch. Granger extracted several glass vials, each filled with a dark red substance. Uncorking each of them, she poured it over the altar, staining the beautiful gold with the colour of blood.

"It's blood of course," said Turpin cheerily. She had walked over towards Daphne and Madam Bones, looking very pleased with herself. "The blood of your prisoners. Our little ritual here will make sure none of them can ever set foot on or cast any magic against Ynys Mon again."

"That wasn't part of the agreement," said Madam Bones, looking very upset. "Involuntary blood magic is against ICW regulations!"

"Oh that's why we took care to make sure it was voluntary!" said Turpin with a huge smile on her face. "Almost all of your prisoners agreed the moment we put it forward as a condition for them ever leaving the island."

If Daphne had ever seen the look she saw now on Madam Bones' face while working under her, she would have fled the Ministry and not returned until she knew the storm was over. Hufflepuffs never dealt well with deception.

Granger had by now finished pouring out the vials, and the altar was thoroughly stained with the colour of blood.

Her incomprehensible chanting continued - except now Daphne was sure that she heard several times a familiar name.

Marcus Flint.

Finch-Fletchley dragged forward Marcus Flint, who was very tightly bound and gagged. Much more so, Daphne noticed, than the other prisoners. With shock and horror, she watched as Granger extracted Flint's right hand and placed it on the altar. With a swift motion, she chopped his hand off. Flint howled, so loud that Daphne could hear the scream despite the gag over his mouth. Blood squirted from his hand, covering the unstained parts of the altar in crimson red.

Nor was blood the only thing flowing. Daphne would sweear that she saw something else - something intangible flowing out of Flint.

"Was that part voluntary too?" asked Madam Bones through gritted teeth.

"In a manner of speaking," said Turpin grimly. "You should put some Veritaserum in old pa Flint - they aren't as bad as the Notts were, but they were quite awful. There's more than one Muggleborn they've tortured and raped who is now a citizen of Ynys Mon. Marcus was tried, and the verdict was delivered against him."

"I see," said Madam Boes icily. "And was he given counsel and tried by an impartial court?"

Turpin smiled at them benevolently.

"Is that how your Ministry conducts its affairs?" she mocked. "The Wizengamot is not known for its impartiality. For what it's worth, Flint was given counsel - precious hard as it was to find someone willing to defend him - but even that counsellor had little to work with. Flint was uncooperative, and in the end one of the wonderful things about magic is that truth potions tell the truth, is it not?"

"Did anyone else have to go through these 'trials'?" asked Daphne.

"There were three who did. Zacharias Smith has no magic any more - he will be returned with you, along with Flint," she smiled benevolently. "Ginny Weasley was also charged, but found not guilty. See Madam Bones? You'll find our justice is far more _just_ than what your Ministry hands out."

A quick glance revealed to Daphne that Ginny Weasley was not in the group being released. She opened her mouth to say something when she was distracted by Granger casting a spell on Flint's arm. The flow of blood ceased immediately, and with it Flint's howling. He was dragged back to the prisoners by Finch-Fletchley, who then shoved a potion down his throat.

Granger now thrust her palms onto the bloody altar and cried out one final, incomprehensible sentence. Magic, visible magic flew from her into the altar, and the altar glowed, highlighting the blood it was coated in, and then disappeared. When Granger looked up again, her eyes were back to normal.

"You may take the prisoners," she called out quietly. "After they leave here, they will not be able to come to Ynys Mon again, at the expense of losing their magic."

Daphne didn't need to hear anything else. She touched her wand to the ground, and then to the length of rope she had brought, creating a portkey using her family magic. She passed it to Madam Bones, who looked uncertain until Finch-Fletchley muttered a few words and the ropes binding the prisoners' hands and feet fell off. They stepped forward, single file, heads bowed, spirits broken. All except one.

"Where's my sister, Granger?" hissed Ron Weasley, looking around.

"Go home, Weasley," said Granger in a bored voice. "Your sister will be dealt with."

They were so close being done that Daphne wasn't about to let Weasley, who was now shouting expletives at Granger, ruin their chances.

"Shut up Weasley!" she roared. Weasley did shut up, more out of shock than anything else.

"How dare you!" he spluttered. "I'm your commander, you snake, I ..."

"I am trying to save your arse," interrupted Daphne. She felt a vein in her head throbbing. "Now get your arse home and I'll discuss your sister with Granger."

Madam Bones chose that moment to thrust the end of the rope into Weasley's hands, and with a muttered password, the group of prisoners and Madam Bones disappeared with a quiet pop.

"Why wasn't the Weasley girl amongst the prisoners?" she asked, keenly aware that she was surrounded by enemies of the state. "Turpin said she was tried, but found not guilty, so she should be free to go."

Granger winced.

"She refused to take part in the ritual. We explained to her that the ritual required a certain volume of blood - volume that we were able to acquire easily from Flint."

"Why Flint?"

"He agreed to it in order to commute his life sentence," she answered. "Unfortunately, the Council has voted to not free Ginny Weasley until we are able to find a means to secure Ynys Mon against her. It may take a few weeks, but we will release her eventually as promised."

Daphne took a moment to collect her thoughts. Granger looked nervous, which meant that either Ginny Weasley was dead, or ...

"You realize the agreement was for the return of all prisoners," said Daphne quietly. Granger's eyes widened. Finch-Fletchley looked triumphant. Even Turpin's nonchalant mask faltered. That was it, then. "Very well."

She turned around, but then hesitated.

"May I have a word in private?" she asked.

"Absolutely not," shouted Finch-Fletchley. "Hermione, we're not going to let you walk away with her - for all we know, she might kidnap you!"

He was so hot-headed at times, he might as well have been a Gryffindor.

"Have you ever heard of a Privacy Ward, Finch-Fletchley?" asked Daphne dryly. Finch-Fletchley spluttered in response, but a stern glare from Granger quietened him.

She took Daphne aside and murmured a few words. Daphne thought she saw a movement beneath Granger's robes and something in the air next to them shimmered. Had Granger put up a Privacy Ward? Daphne had no way of recognizing the magic, so she kept her voice low.

"Did Harry make it to you okay?" she asked. "Oh, don't give me that look - he was my partner, I have some interest in his well-being."

"He is well," answered Granger, folding her arms. "I am keeping him in a safe place for now."

A hint of defensiveness in her manner indicated to Daphne that she should ask no more. She had debated not bringing it up in the first place, but she had wanted to know that Harry it out safely. That was one load off her mind.

Perhaps she would be able meet up with him again soon, though if hostilities with Ynys Mon continued - and she foresaw that they would continue - she didn't know how that would be possible.

"Thank you," she murmured, bringing a green stone out of her pocket. With a flourish of her wand, she created a portkey and let it take her away to the Ministry.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The prisoners were immediately taken to St Mungo's upon arrival to the Ministry. A quick check-up by the Healers had verified that they were a little roughed up, but otherwise physically and magically fit.

All of them except for Zacharias Smith and Marcus Flint. Not even magic could regrow limbs, and even if it could, Marcus Flint didn't have enough magic left in his body to support even the slightest kinds of magical healing. He was worse off than a squib. Zacharias Smith's magic was mildly responsive. His Healer had given him a wand, and his Lumos had produced a slight flicker from the wand. The Healer was confident that with his own wand, Smith might be able to survive in the Magical world, at least, though he was barely one level above a squib.

Daphne's question about how their magic had been removed was met with grim looks from the Healers.

"It's hard to tell," said the Chief Healer at last. "Mr Flint has no magic left in his body, at all. He is a muggle for all intents and purposes. Mr Smith still has all magic in his body, but he can't seem to access anything but the barest trickle of it. It's quite odd, and all we can do is keep them in for further examination!"

He seemed quite excited at the prospect of keeping them in the hospital, and Daphne didn't want to be the one to dash his hopes and tell him that Lord Flint would be taking his son out of St Mungos before you could say Quidditch. The Flints were a notoriously private clan.

And soon, the Flints would be gone too, mused Daphne. Old man Flint wasn't getting any younger, and Marcus was his only heir. They would be gone in the way of the Notts, the Doges and the Conners - casualties of a civil war that was wiping out the few families left intact by the last war.

"Thank you," Daphne said to the Chief Healer. "Please keep me apprised of anything you discover."

"Madam Greengrass," Madam Bones interrupted them. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Daphne nodded, thoughtfully.

"Our Aurors will need new wands," she said. The Muggleborns had snapped their wands, she had been told. "Take them to Diagon Alley to get wands - have it charged to the Department's account. After that, I want them reporting to the Department in the regular staffing schedule."

"Very well," said Madam Bones.

"The rest of the patients are in a ward to themselves," said the Chief Healer. "I will take you there, Madam Bones."

He offered Madam Bones his arm, and Daphne noticed that Madam Bones turned just a little pink as she accepted it. She was about to head towards the fireplace, when she heard her name.

"Greengrass," croaked Flint.

The Healers had constructed a special hospital ward here, for Flint and Smith. Smith was still unconscious - his Lumos charm had tired him out apparently - but Flint was awake.

"Flint," she said sadly walking over to him. "I'm sorry."

"I am too," he coughed, his eyes watering. "We were daft, weren't we? Who would've thought - you and I following the Weasleys into a battle against Muggleborns."

She wanted to laugh, for he was looking at her expecting something, but her fake laugh died in her throat.

"We were," she agreed. She studied the wall behind him furiously, not wanting to look at him.

"Don't pity me, Greengrass," he said at last. "They were going to kill me, after their farce of a trial. Granger came to me and offered me a way out - my magic for my life. That ritual was a damn powerful one; Granger explained it to me. It originally used to need human sacrifice, but she thought she could adapt it so that it would only need my magic."

"And you let her do that?" asked Daphne incredulously. To a wizard, losing their magic was worse than losing their life. What was life without magic? "They would never have made you a human sacrifice, the ICW would have outlawed them in an instant!"

Flint laughed hoarsely. "I wasn't to know, was I? Besides, I'm no Gryffindor, Greengrass. I'm a coward, and I chose my life. The Mudblood bitch who charged me - she was satisfied too. She thought it would be a greater punishment to let me live without magic. I had hoped that the Healers would be able to return my magic, but it doesn't sound likely."

"It might still be possible," said Daphne, trying to comfort him. "What did you do to the girl?"

"I fell in love with her," Flint said in a bitter voice. Daphne gasped. "Don't get me wrong, I had my way with her more than once - a few times despite her wishes, I'll admit, but she was getting food, shelter and an allowance out of it too. I didn't see her complain when I gave her galleons to spend on pretty trinkets. In the end, I got her with child. I should've killed her then - dad always said to clean up after my messes - but I didn't. I had fallen in love with her.

"I couldn't have married her - dad would've killed me - but I wanted her to stay with me in the Manor as my mistress. I even promised her I'd legitimize the child once Dad had passed. She was really happy about that, but once word started spreading about Turpin's little group, she vanished one day, 8 months pregnant. I was heartbroken. The next I heard from her, it was at Ynys Mon, with my kid in her arms, and she was accusing me of raping her."

"But the truth potion?" asked Daphne. "How come that didn't come out in the truth potion."

"Oh, they just needed a charge flimsy enough to put the truth potion in me," said Flint with a laugh. "You know how it was in Slytherin, Greengrass. We've done enough to Muggles and Mudbloods that there were excuses aplenty for the Mudblood filth to do what they did. Here's the kicker though: a lot of people in that group the Mudbloods released have raped or wronged Mudbloods and Muggles in the past. Do you know why the Mudbloods let them go?"

"Why?" asked Daphne with bated breath.

"Because they don't want to antagonize the Ministry," said Flint grimly. "Even if they think they can beat us at every turn, they prefer peace - or some of them do, at least. Granger would rather have peace, I can tell, but Finch-Fletchley would wipe the earth with us. In the end, they needed a sacrifice for their ritual, so they let slip my name - Granger, Turpin and Finch-Fletchley all knew I kept company with the Death Eater crowd at school - hoping someone would come forward."

"So they probably didn't even release the names of the other prisoners, in case there were demands for justice from their other citizens," realized Daphne.

"Nope. It was very Slytherin of them," said Flint wryly. He coughed again, and Daphne could tell he was getting tired. "Just mine. I was chosen as their sacrifice."

"I'll let you rest," said Daphne, turning around. "What you did in the past was wrong, but it's also wrong what they did to you. No one has a right to take anyone else's magic away."

Flint said nothing, but out of the corner of her eye, Daphne saw a single tear leak down his eye. With renewed determination, she marched to the fireplace and floo'd out of St Mungo's.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: Update Policy: **My current goal is to update every other week.

**Please Review**! Your reviews keep me going.


	15. The Ynys Mon Liaison Office

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 1****5****: **The Ynys Mon Liaison Office

The Wizengamot was much too large, Daphne decided, and way too unruly.

She was standing before that august body again, this time reporting the results of her expedition. Every few minutes through her tale, she had been interrupted by some wizard who thought he was important enough to be heard, or that he alone had figured out a way to solve the Ministry's problems in one fell swoop. In the end, Chief Warlock Amos Diggory had somewhat reluctantly put up a hardly-used silencing ward build into the chamber so that the Wizengamot was obliged to listen to Daphne's speech in silence.

With grim professionalism, Daphne recited her tale. Her eyes darted primarily between two individuals - Draco Malfoy and Lord Flint. Draco had steepled his fingers and was listening to her with intense concentration. Not once did he falter, not even when she reached the point where his old classmate had had his hand chopped off and his magic removed from the body.

Lord Flint, on the other hand, was another story. At first, he stared numbly, and then he got up and started shouting at her desperately. With the silencing ward in effect, she had no idea what he was saying. She kept going on with her story but some wizards got up and shouted in the general direction of Flint, and then some more wizards got up and shouted at the wizards who had shouted at Flint, and within moments the Wizengamot session had devolved into a huge shouting match and it was clear no one was listening to her any more. She stopped and looked at Amos Diggory in askance, and with a sigh, Diggory lower the wards and hammered his magically reinforced mallet onto his podium.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The Wizengamot fell into hushed silence, all except for Lord Flint who was now muttering to himself words that Daphne could not make out.

Realizing that the hall was silent, he looked up at her and spoke more forcefully.

"My heir," he said. "My Marcus! The Mudbloods said they would return our heirs unharmed. They lied to us!"

There were some shocked gasps at the profanity from the more Liberal sections of the Wizengamot, but not as many, Daphne noted, as would have been months ago, before the uprising began.

She didn't know what to say. Raised in the old ways as she was, she wanted to Flint to either learn what had happened through his son, or at least tell him in private. Airing the family's dirty laundry in front the entire Wizengamot was the most disrespectful thing she could think of.

Instead, she chose to deflect his question.

"There is one more thing," she said quietly. "They didn't return Ginny Weasley to us."

Again, the Wizengamot exploded. It took several more bangs from Amos Diggory's mallet to calm them down.

"If I may, my lords," she began carefully. "It might reasonably be argued in front of the ICW that Ynys Mon not turning over Ms Weasley is a violation of their agreement with us - an agreement that our recognition of the island was subject to …"

Bang! Bang!

This time Amos Diggory's ire was directed towards her.

"Finish your report, Madam Greengrass," he said coolly. "You are an Auror, not a politician."

She wanted to retort that she was the Head of the DMLE, and that presenting such a situation was well within her rights, but she bit back her response. Regardless of whether it was her right or not, politicking was certainly not her strength, and it really wasn't good for her to become embroiled in it. She was a law enforcement officer and it wasn't her job to stick her nose where it didn't belong.

"But why did they chose Marcus and only Marcus?" Lord Flint asked desperately.

The entire hall looked at Daphne for a response, and she could see no way out of responding.

"There is a Muggleborn on Ynys Mon," she said quietly, "who claims your son used her. He was tried by the Council and found guilty by truth potion."

There was another uproar. Some shouted that the Council had overstepped its reach and had no business administering truth potions without Wizengamot approval. Others demanded to know how they could run a parallel court before being granted secession, and others still insisted that they didn't have any right to try British citizens.

"My Lord Flint," Daphne called out above the chaos, and this time the hall quietened down without needing Amos Diggory's mallet. "Marcus is at St Mungo's, if you would like to attend to him."

Without a word, Lord Flint got up and exited the Wizengamot Hall. Daphne breathed a sigh of relief and continued her report, describing the retrieval of the prisoners and their transport to St Mungo's.

"There is one more thing, my Lords," she said carefully as she wrapped up her tale. "Based on what I saw today and what I have seen in the past, there is reason to believe that the Magic of Ynys Mon is based heavily on blood magic."

Some of the members looked surprised, but fewer than Daphne had thought. They must have come to the same conclusion she had. The Liberal members of the Wizengamot looked shocked and revolted - many of them had fought alongside Granger and her allies in the War against the Dark Lord, and the idea of a beacon of their precious light side using blood magic - regarded as the darkest of Dark Magics, second only to soul magic - was horrifying to them.

She noticed then that Draco was looking pointedly at her and tapping his desk. She looked down at the podium and was surprised to see there was a piece of parchment on it. Had he used a switching charm? She didn't think those were allowed in the Wizengamot.

Unrolling the parchment, she read the instructions contained therein. Could he mean ...? She could see the rationale behind his request; she looked up at him to find him nodding encouragingly.

"If I may, my Lords," she said, "as the Ministry's representative while the Minister is not here, much of the upcoming work with Ynys Mon will be handled by the DMLE. It would make our work easier if the Wizengamot were to appoint a representative for the DMLE - someone who could speak for the Wizengamot and represent its opinions in our negotiations with Ynys Mon."

Hushed silence greeted her request. Draco looked satisfied. The fact that she was asking for a representative was highly unusual - the Ministry was usually very protective of its domain, not letting the legislature intrude into its workings beyond what was strictly necessary. The fact that she was presenting the Wizengamot with a golden opportunity to do exactly that surprised even some of the oldest members of the Wizengamot, and she could see their minds turning as they tried to see how they could leverage the situation to their advantage.

It was a risk, Daphne knew, doing what Draco had asked of her, but it was a risk she was willing to take because she had some idea of what he was angling towards. Ordinarily, trusting him somewhat blindly was not something Daphne was very comfortable with, but lately her attitude towards Draco had changed. In part, she felt comfortable that Draco was reasonably invested in this struggle. She knew he felt genuinely about the losses to the Wizarding World in the war against the Dark Lord, and that he was trying to make amends for his family's mistakes during the war.

At the same time, she had no illusions that he was a Malfoy through and through. Malfoys put the future of their family above all else. In this particular case, she knew the future of the Malfoy family - and Draco's budding political career - would hinge on how he handled the Ynys Mos crisis. Additionally, she knew that however indirectly, she was his family and that he did love Astoria. However much of brat Astoria was, Daphne knew she would never forgive Draco if he deliberately sacrificed Daphne for his political machinations.

The proposal had its merits on its own count as well. While the Wizengamot representative would put her at the risk of having her Department under constant Wizengamot supervision, in the short term she really needed someone who she could work with without spending all her time reporting in front of the Wizengamot. Yes, she decided. That was what she needed.

"Very well, Madam Greengrass," said Amos Diggory, interrupting her flow of thought. "The Wizengamot will work with office of the Minister to provide you with the resources you need."

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," Daphne said, in what she hoped was a gracious tone. "Do the members of the Wizengamot have any further questions?"

There were several, the first few of which Daphne almost rolled her eyes at. She really disliked politicians' habit of asking questions just to be seen asking questions. Anyone listening to her story with half an ear would have been able to answer them. When Lord Boot asked her if Marcus Flint would be able to use magic again, she didn't bother to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

There was one interesting question that came up.

"Madam Greengrass," said a wizened old wizard who sat a few seats away from Draco, "have you considered what would happen if, after this ritual, you were to send one of your Aurors to Ynys Mon? It seems like a big security concern to me if most of our fighting forces can't even set foot on the island."

"We have not attempted it yet," Daphne admitted, "but we will try and find a volunteer to do so. This is blood magic we are dealing with, so it will not be easy. In the meanwhile, Madam Bones and myself, along with anyone who wasn't in that original group, will still be able to go to Ynys Mon if needed to defend our country. We also have some preliminary plans to increase the defense of our public Wizarding locations like Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade."

The wizard nodded in satisfaction at her answer, though she had made it up on the spot. National security was her concern now, she realized. She was responsible for the protection of the entire Wizarding community of Britain.

"If that is all," said Amos Diggory when no more questions were forthcoming, "Madam Greengrass, you may get back to your business."

With a bow to the Wizengamot, she stepped off-stage and left the hall.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

It had been several days since the prisoners on Ynys Mon had been let go, and Harry was already getting angsty. At first, Hermione had asked him to stay in her cottage, but he didn't deal with that any better than Sirius had dealt with being locked up in Grimmauld Place. Grudgingly, she had let him wander around the Muggle parts of the island, but she warned him strictly to stay away from the Muggleborn village, and to try and avoid any Magicals even in the Muggle areas.

That particular day was exceptionally gloomy. Grey clouds hung low in the sky and the late summer rain typical of that part of Wales was pouring down with unabashed vigour. Had he been in Britain, Harry would have put on a water-repulsion charm and gone out anyway, but here on Ynys Mon, he was able to do no magic. And it was killing him.

He sat on the couch Hermione had set up as his bed, twirling his wand in his hand. The television was blaring in front of him, but after a few days of binging, he had gotten tired of it. Staring at the screen gave him a headache, and he had no idea how Dudley had been able to spend days during his summer holidays, doing nothing but watching TV. Of course, Harry had never been allowed to sit in front of the TV - if Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon had caught him idling, they would have immediately given him a laundry list of chores to do.

Still he watched, for there was nothing else to do. Every now and then he would swish and flick his wand at a feather he had lying on the coffee table in front of him and mutter, "Wingardium Leviosa."

It made him feel like he was a First Year again. Or worse - like a Muggle with no magic who dreamed and yearned of performing magic, but was not able to and would never be able to.

Swish and flick - "Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered, staring intently at the feather, but it didn't so much as twitch. He sighed and let his head rest on the couch. A particularly loud noise emanated from the TV - someone's car had gotten upturned - and with an irritable grunt, Harry grabbed the remote and turned it off.

He had to get out. Hermione's cottage had a little porch, so after a few moments mulling it over, he went outside and sat on the porch. The rain had lowered the temperature enough so that it was just a little bit chilly. Almost subconsciously, he reached inwards towards his magic attempting to use it to warm himself. His magic was elusive again, as it always had been on Ynys Mon. He closed his eyes and focused inwards and attempted to calm it down.

Perhaps he was dreaming. He didn't know. There was darkness around him and he felt himself sinking in it. Deeper, deeper, deeper he sank, as if he were falling into a deep sleep, but still very much awake.

At last he saw it - his magical core. It was humming with power, with raw strength that his teachers told him was the strongest since Albus Dumbledore's. He watched it and let it take over his sensations, drowning out the chill in the air, drowning out the sights and sounds of the Welsh thunderstorm.

And then he frowned.

He looked closer, and there was a mark on his core - like a gaping wound someone had sliced open. He touched it - a sharp pain shot through his hand, and he had a vision of himself lying outside the clearing of the Village of Ynys Mon, with the Magic of the island talking to him and Hermione looming over him.

He opened his eyes and noticed with some alarm that his finger was bleeding. There was a splinter stuck in it. He extracted it carefully, wiping off a the pearly drop of red blood that had formed on it.

Levelling his wand at this finger, he muttered, "Episkey."

He felt the rush of release as magic flowed through his body and his finger healed itself. The spell had worked. It took a moment to sink in. The spell had worked.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he said, pointing his wand at a twig on the ground, not caring that he was in full sight of the Muggles from the other cottages. The twig rose, albeit more slowly than it would have on Britain.

It was so addicting, the feeling of magic.

He hurried inside and cast the levitation charm on the feather sitting on Hermione's coffee table.

This time the charm didn't work. He frowned, mulling over why his magic was working outside but not inside. An image of the cut in his magical core flashed through his body, and suddenly, he understood. He grabbed a needle that was lying on one of the cabinets and pricked his finger with it. A drop of blood formed, and he wiped it, throwing it onto the floor.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather shuddered, but then slowly rose into the air. It was sacrifice - the magic of Ynys Mon was based on sacrifice. He sacrificed his blood, and in return, the magic had responded to him.

With a huge smile, he cast a water-repelling charm on himself and his clothes, and stepped outside into the thunderstorm.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The summons to Draco's office weren't unexpected. Somewhere in Daphne's mind it registered that perhaps as the Head of the DMLE, he should be the one to visit her, and not the other way around, but she reminded herself that Draco had been instrumental in landing her her current position. A Slytherin fought for respect, but a Slytherin also knew which battles to choose. Slytherins were survivors.

She scribbled an agreement to meet him on the back of the purple memo he had sent her, and with a muttered spell, the memo transformed into an airplane and flew out of her office. She got up and following it, waiting only to cast a wistful glance around her new office. It had been over a week, but she still missed her old office that she had shared with Harry and its homely feel. The office of the Department Head, while a lot larger and grander, was also a place of constant interruption and distraction. Every half an hour or so, some rookie would walk in and ask a question, or some Ministry clerk would hurry in, asking for her signature.

She got into a lift with a crowd of paper planes. Her instinct was still to set one or several of them on fire, but she checked herself - as a Department Head, such juvenile pursuits were past her.

Some of the calm had returned to the Ministry corridors. There were still wizards running around and the population in general seemed a lot thinner since the Muggleborn exodus, but the panic that had set in after the defeat at Menai had started to fade.

She knocked on Draco's door, and his voice came through clearly.

"Enter."

He set aside the piece of parchment he had been staring at when she walked in, and got up to meet her with a warm embrace.

"Daphne," he said warmly. "Welcome. Before we start any business, Astoria asked me to tell you that you are invited to dinner this Friday - no excuses."

Daphne bit back a groan that would have been terribly impolite in the situation.

"I'll be happy to attend," she said primly. She remembered a thought she had had earlier. "And if it's all right with you, I'd like an opportunity to peruse your library for some texts that are ... erm ... hard to find conventionally."

"Of course," said Draco good-naturedly. "Astoria will be delighted to hear you will be able to make it. Now, I trust you've heard the good news?"

She did not know what he was talking about. That was not surprising - there was a fair bit of resentment against her in the Ministry for being appointed a Department Head that was only just coming to light, now that she had had time to settle into her new role.

"The Wizengamot has authorized the creation of an office in the Minsitry in response to your request - the Ynys Mon Liaison Office. It's currently attached to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with the understanding that it will eventually be separated into its own office."

Daphne perked up.

"Who is in charge of this office?" she asked.

Draco smiled at her broadly. "Me."

"Oh," said Daphne, furrowing her brows. She wasn't sure how to react. "Did you want the role? With all due respect, sending a Malfoy to treat with the Muggleborns doesn't seem like the best idea ..."

"It's not," answered Draco, looking pensive. "It's not glamorous, and the work is difficult enough that no one in the Wizengamot themselves would want want it."

"Except you?" noted Daphne, leaning back in her chair.

"Except me," he agreed. "Some of my allies in the Wizengamot tried to convince me against volunteering - they all thought it was a losing proposition, and that whoever signed up for it would lose a lot of political capital. Many see dealing with Ynys Mon as a doomed enterprise."

"So does this mean I am your boss?" asked Daphne. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea.

Draco frowned at the idea.

"Not exactly," he said, summoning a piece of parchment and reading it over. "We had to phrase it like that to get the Ministry to accept the proposal - the Minister wasn't happy about it. Strictly speaking, I am to be a contractor employed by you. Coincidentally, I also have the power to treat with Ynys Mon on behalf of the Wizengamot."

Daphne let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of power," she said softly.

"Indeed," said Draco grimly. "And I intend to do right by it. Now, first of all, I need to understand what the extent of your abilities is. What is our martial strength against Ynys Mon."

She had read through enough reports this past week that she easily answered that question.

"Negligible," she said bitterly. "Thanks to Granger's ritual, our best trained troops can't enter Ynys Mon, at the cost of their magic. And thanks to the Muggleborn exodus, the Ministry budget is so unbalanced that the Department can't afford to hire any new wands."

"Has anyone verified Granger's claims?" Draco asked.

Daphne shook her head.

"No one wanted to volunteer to find out," she answered. "Nor am I inclined to push them."

Draco's face darkened, and Daphne knew they were both thinking of their former housemate, Marcus Flint.

"Of course," said Draco at last. "Still, it would be good to know, should the opportunity arise ..."

She highly doubted the opportunity would arise, but she nodded in acceptance.

"The Wizengamot's active position," continued Draco, "is that the truce is not valid and that the independence of Ynys Mon will not be recognized until Ginny Weasley has been returned to us."

Daphne started.

"But ... but ... we can't fight them," she said, looking at him in alarm. "Surely the Wizengamot knows that, after ..."

"Of course they do," he said comfortingly. "It's simply a political ploy to drag things out while we weigh our options. The ICW has been made aware of this position, and likely they've communicated it to the Council at Ynys Mon."

That made her feel a little bit better.

"You needn't worry about that," he added. "I will be travelling to the ICW convention in a few weeks to engage with the representatives of the Council. In the meanwhile, you have two tasks. One, I understand we can't attack Ynys Mon, but we have to protect the country against them. I need you to have your Department ready for any contingencies."

Daphne was almost offended that he brought that up. She had already planned to run such a simulation with Madam Bones. The old witch was still very upset by the events around the release of the prisoners, and was aching to do something about it.

"Secondly, the Ministry has elected to not lift its previous mandate for now," he said quietly.

"Previous mandate?" asked Daphne, dreading the answer. She felt like she already knew what it was. Draco held out a roll of parchment, and as her eyes darted over its contents, a heavy feeling settled in her stomach.

It was a death warrant for Lisa Turpin.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Please Review! Your reviews keep me writing. Let me know how you think the Ynys Mon council will react to the Ministry's refusal to accept their conditions.


	16. Deal with the Devil

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 16**: Deal with the Devil

"A death warrant," spluttered Daphne, staring the parchment in front of her. "These weren't even used on the Dark Lord's followers."

"I tried to argue against it," said Draco, tapping his fingers on his desk. "But she's hurt enough people - Wizengamot families - that I was disregarded. She did commit outright, extra-judicial murder, Daphne. If anyone deserves it, it's her."

"So we should do the same?" Daphne asked.

Draco held his hands up in surrender.

"I didn't want this," he said. "This makes life much more difficult for me. I said as much to the Wizengamot - it won't be an easy task to take out Turpin and still come up with some sort of agreement with Ynys Mon, but you know how it is. The Wizengamot commands and we must obey."

Daphne just stared at him mutinously. Her insecurities rose again - was the Wizengamot setting her up for the chopping block - to be set up for the fall in the aftermath of Turpin's death?

"Come on Daphne," said Draco, leaning forward, staring at her intently. "Think of what she did to the Notts, the Conners, to Marcus Flint."

There was no way around it. Refusing a direct order from the Wizengamot cosigned by the Minister was tantamount to a resignation, and whoever replaced her would be happy to take out Turpin anyway.

"Surely a trial ..." she began.

"She has been sent an owl requesting she present herself for a trial," assured Draco. "We both know she won't show up - this simply expedites the process."

That much, Daphne knew was true. Lisa Turpin was known to be ... erratic. With a sigh, she pocketed the warrant, intending to create a dozen copies of it and hiding them in a dozen different locations, in case this ever came back to bite her. She regretted a dozen times over her decision to ask the Wizengamot to send a representative to her Department.

"I have one more question," she said, the thought of killing Turpin weighing heavily on her mind. "You mentioned your plan to reintegrate Muggleborns ..."

Draco waved her off.

"That is the eventual goal," he said. "For now, we need to focus on Turpin and on this upcoming ICW meeting. Reintegration will come later."

There was a glint in his eye that made her feel very uncomfortable.

"Very well," she said, getting up perhaps a little more hastily than she would have liked. "I will think on what we can do about Turpin and work on some plans for the defense of the country."

"Thank you Daphne," said Draco with a smile, seemingly not noticing her haste. "I will see you this Friday at dinner."

Feeling very tongue-tied, Daphne had to make do with a nod as she practically fled from Draco's office.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Hermione wanted to scream. There had always been a division in the Ynys Mon Council. For a while she had taken comfort in it - after all, didn't the Muggle government have the Tories and the Liberals? Division and diversity of opinion was good, right? It meant the best ideas would bubble forth and the community would be able to evaluate to make the decisions that were the best for it.

What she hadn't expected was complete and utter stonewalling. There was absolutely no reason to keep Ginny locked in a cellar except that Justin wanted to demonstrate his power - both within the community by blocking Hermione and to the British Ministry.

"Weasley is a dangerous witch," said Finch-Fletchley casually. "I'm sorry Hermione, but there is no way I can support releasing her. The security of the island is paramount, as I'm sure you agree."

"For Merlin's sake, Justin, so are Greengrass and Madam Bones," cried Hermione. "Weasley is a single witch, and I doubt she's half as good as either Greengrass or Madam Bones."

"The Ministry is holding us hostage," chided the elderly Sarah Khan, a frown etched across her otherwise kindly face. She was holding up a parchment from the ICW. "The ICW very clearly said our recognition hinges upon the approval of the British Ministry, and frankly, we are defying the terms of the agreement ..."

"Are we though?" demured Lisa Turpin. Her casual attitude towards the Council was increasingly growing on Hermione's nerves. "There was no timeframe in the agreement, and we have assured the Ministry that Ginny Weasley will be released eventually ..."

Hermione gripped her chair tightly. "Lisa, We're definitely violating the spirit of the agreement. We're losing the moral high ground, and the Ministry can use that to divide the opinion of the ICW. We're this close to winning …"

"I don't think we have anything to be afraid of," said Lisa, twirling her wand. Hermione didn't understand why she kept doing that when the wands didn't even work effectively on Ynys Mon. "The Ministry is impotent against us, especially after that lovely ritual we did on their Aurors. After all they've done to us - everything they've taken from us - I don't mind pushing their buttons a little more. It'll be fun."

"The Council isn't in the business of having fun," hissed Hermione through her teeth. "Our job is to protect the people …"

"Our job is to represent the people," cut in Justin, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"You don't understand what it was like, Hermione," Lisa said. "I sold my body to that blasted Conner for a full year for food and shelter. Many of the people on Ynys Mon fared worse. You haven't experienced what we've experienced - you've always had Potter's protection."

"Maybe that's why she's so eager to have him back," said Justin, raising an eyebrow. There was a mocking lilt in his voice. "His protection must be so comforting … so familiar."

BANG. Hermione brought down her mallet with an almightly heave.

"That's it Justin, that's the fourth time today you've engaged in ad homenim," she said. She feel a vein on her forehead beginning to pulse. "I wonder if you're even fit to be a Council Member anymore."

Shocked gasps ran across the group. There was a clause in the Ynys Mon manifesto for forcing a re-election for the Council that the Council Head could exercise. Hermione had never been more tempted in her life to exercise it, but the checks and balances she had written into that manifesto defeated her at every turn. If she exercised that right, every seat would be up for re-election - including her own. While her own approval rating was high enough that she was sure she would get a spot on the Council back, she wasn't so sure that the re-elected council would be in her favour. Justin's rhetoric was beginning to take a hold in the community and opinion was beginning to shift in a way that made her feel very uncomfortable.

"Now now," interjected Mrs Khan in a soothing voice. "It's stressful for all of us and tempers are just running a little high. Perhaps we can move on to another subject and circle back to Ms Weasley later?"

Hermione nodded tersely, her hands shaking as she smoothed out the piece of paper in front of her that had the agenda on it.

"The Ministry has sent a letter asking Lisa be turned in for trial," she said.

Lisa let out a peal of laughter.

"May I see that?" She stretched out her hand. Hermione handed the Minsitry's letter to Deborah Klein, who passed it down to Lisa. Without a word Lisa tore the parchment into shreds.

"Lisa!" said Mrs Khan, shocked. "You didn't even read it."

"I don't have to," Lisa said, throwing her feet onto the table and leaning back. "What's next?"

Hermione had had enough.

"I think that's all for today," she said brusquely, though there were items still left on her agenda.

Lisa was the first to leave, swinging her feet off the table and walking out, whistling to herself. Behind her were Deborah Klein and Justin, talking to each other in hushed whispers. As they left the door, Hermione saw Klein look at her with a contemplative expression.

Mrs Khan and George Martin lingered in the room with Hermione. That was the division in the Council - Mrs Khan, George and Hermione were similarly minded, tending to be non-confrontational, pacifist and generally hands-off.

"Why did she tear it up?" asked Hermione through clenched teeth. Mrs Khan collected the pieces of parchment and brought them over to where Hermione was sitting, setting them before her on the table. "She is so ... so ... immature at times!"

"That she is, love," said Mrs Khan sympathetically.

Hermione closed her eyes and willed her magic, touching the parchment. The papers rustled softly at first, and then with great vigour, moving and reforming into the Ministry's letter. Hermione felt infinitely more tired.

"I shouldn't have done that," she sighed. "That took more out of me than I expected."

"Hermione - " hesitated George. "Mrs Khan and I were talking earlier - we think it would be better if we dropped the subject of Ginny Weasley."

"Now dear, don't look so betrayed," clucked Mrs Khan. "We agree that it's wrong to keep Ginny, but them's four and we's three. This is the second time you've brought it up and they're not budging."

"We've been compromising so much lately," said Hermione dropping her gaze and staring at the fllor.

George sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "It's the will of the people, Hermione. You could dissolve the Council and call for re-election, but you know they'd come back. The people have tasted victory, and now they want more. There's calls for revenge; some nutters have even been saying we should go overthrow the Wizengamot and take over all of Britain."

Hermione snorted. "Do they even know how are magic works? I'd like to see them make the sacrifices ..." she trailed off.

He was right, she knew. George's father had been a major politician in the Scottish National Party and a prominent mayor of some town or the other in Scotland. George had spent his summers helping in his father's office and learned much about Muggle politics. Now, on Ynys Mon, he was following in his father's footsteps.

"It doesn't matter," he said firmly. "We've lost that battle. The meeting at the ICW is coming up - we're going to adapt and keep moving forward."

For the first time since she had settled on Ynys Mon, Hermione didn't feel like moving forward.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Ron Weasley walked into the Ministry, feeling like a shadow of his former self. Barely two weeks had passed since his greatest failure, and now his life was a mess. His sister was missing, kept prisoner by Granger and her posse. His mother and his wife wouldn't stop crying. Charlie had returned from Romania and Bill from Egypt.

Ron had egged them to go do what he couldn't do - to go to Ynys Mon and bring back their sister, but his Mum had given them such a yelling that his ears still hurt from it.

"Leave it to your father and the Ministry," she had ordered strictly, wiping her tears. "The last thing I need is for one of you to go the way Marcus Flint went."

Ron knew their dad wouldn't be able pull any influence. The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was the laughing stock of the Ministry, and while his dad had some friends at the Ministry, none of them were high enough to do anything about Ginny.

He was so desperate, he would have reached out to Harry, had Harry been there. No one knew where he had gone, but rumours had started, saying he had joined the Muggleborns. The more traditionalist sections of society had already branded him a traitor. They were saying he had been a plant all along - intended to misdirect the attention of the DMLE until Ynys Mon was ready to make its move.

He got into the Ministry lifts with a nervous looking man and half a dozen purple airplanes and punched the floor number of the Minister's office.

Regardless of whether or not Harry had joined Granger, he was gone, Ron mused. That broom had drifted off. There would be no hunting down Lockhart and sneaking off to the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny. His family was refusing to do anything, so he would have to step up - even if that meant selling his soul to do it.

The planes flew out the instant the doors opened on the Minister's floor, followed closely by the nervous looking man who must have sensed Ron's mood. The floor was busy, and no one questioned Ron's appearance. He walked quietly, with a grace he had developed during the war, passing the office of the Minister and his Under-secretary, all the way down the corridor to an office he had heard of, but never been to.

He paused at the door and stared at the name plate for a moment, asking himself if he really wanted to do this. He thought of Ginny, and a cold feeling of dread came over him. He was a Gryffindor. He could do this.

He knocked on the door.

"Enter," came the voice, loud and clear. Ron cringed and opened the door. "Weasley?"

"Malfoy," said Ron quietly. They eyed each other for a moment, distrustful looks on their faces. "I need a favour."

For the barest of seconds, a calculating look appeared on Malfoy's face, but it was quickly replaced by a smooth, neutral expression.

"Come in," said Malfoy at last. He went in and sat down, noting that Malfoy twitched as he did so. "You're here for your sister."

Ron nodded. "The Wizengamot has appointed you to its representative to Ynys Mon. Can you help my sister?"

He trembled as the words left his lips, aware that the man he had disliked the most - perhaps even more than You-Know-Who - now held so much power over him.

Malfoy appeared deep in thought.

"I will arrange retrieve your sister, Weasley," he said at last. "But understand that I will need some favours in return. Be prepared to return them."

"I understand," Ron said, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. "Just so you know, I shan't be touching Dark Magic ..."

"Oh, be quiet Weasley," snapped Malfoy, looking annoyed. "I don't need you to do any Dark Arts. At most I'll need you to say something to the right person, or something of the sort."

Credit. That's what he wanted, Ron now understood. He wanted Ron to go to the Daily Prophet and tell them the Malfoys had rescued the Weasley daughter. It was one of the longest running, deepest feuds in the Wizarding World.

Malfoy seemed to know what he was thinking. "I care about my family too, Weasley," he said. "In this, we are the same. You will help repair the damage to my family name, and in return I will help your family."

Ron nodded tersely, leaning back in his chair. He had to do this. For Ginny. "Very well."

A pleasant smile broke across Malfoy's face. "Excellent! Now is there anything else you need?"

Shaking his head, he got up to leave. "Let me know if you hear anything," he said, and without waiting for a response, he swept away from Malfoy's office.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The town of Bangor was just beyond the Bridge of Menai, on Welsh mainland. Here in the heart of Gwynedd, you were just as likely to hear Welsh as you were English, and the town's people had a quintessentially Welsh character - they were self-sufficient, inward-looking and little concerned with what was happening outside their cocoon.

It was on a Monday that Harry Potter found himself taking his first steps onto the Welsh mainland since his exile from Britain. It was dangerous, he knew, but he had his Invisibility Cloak on him, and clutched in his right hand was one of Hermione's portkeys.

His destination was a Muggle bank in Bangor. He had no money on his person, and since he was unable to go to Diagon Alley, he had been living off of what Hermione had in her fridge. He knew he had a bank account at Barclays - his mother had set something up in case she or his father had ever needed to retreat to the Muggle world - and he wanted to see if he was able to access it.

After stopping a few times to ask for directions, he made it to a small Barclays in the center of the town. The only person inside was the teller, so Harry made his way up to him.

"Hello Sir," said the teller, standing up to greet him. "How may I help you?"

Harry was momentarily taken aback - he had never been in a Muggle bank before and was unused to being treated politely. The goblins were not known for their politeness.

"Erm ... I think I might have an account here," he said.

The teller frowned. "May I ask your name, Sir?"

"Harry Potter."

"Street address?"

"Erm ..." he tried to think. Vaguely, he remembered Dumbledore telling him his parents live on the main street of Godric's Hollow. "Can you try Main St, Godric's Hollow?"

The teller typed all that information in.

"I see that your bank account with us was closed recently, Sir," he said.

Harry started. "It was closed? When was it closed?"

"Two days ago, Sir. Would you like to reopen an account?"

"No ... no thank you," he said, turning around to leave. His head was spinning. Who might have closed his account? An ominous feeling rose in his stomach that left him feeling very unsettled.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Castle Flint was rumoured to be somewhere in the Northernmost parts of Scotland. No one knew exactly where it was - not even the Flints. The lands surrounding the castle were owned by the Flints but except for the Quidditch Pitch where Marcus Flint used to practise, hardly anyone had stepped foot outside the main castle grounds. The house-elves had even stopped oiling the hinges of the front gate.

The castle loomed on a cliff, overlooking the North Sea. On days like this, the sea would hurl its might against the cliffs and its rage would be heard in the innermost depths of the castle. It was said that the weather around Castle Flint reflected the mood of the Master, and today, the mood of the Master was very foul indeed.

Lord Flint was sitting in his study, poring over parchment after parchment, manuscript after manuscript. He had not left Castle Flint in the weeks following his son's return, not even to attend Wizengamot sessions. His house-elf had been instructed to provide his food in his study, and from dawn to dusk, he had been researching a way to save his family.

A gentle knock interrupted his research.

"Enter," he said, irritation leaking into his voice.

The door opened, and Marcus cautiously poked his head inside the study.

"I haven't seen you in some days, Father," he said hesitantly. "Is everything okay."

Lord Flint waved at him impatiently. "I'm fine, Marcus. What do you need?"

"Have you ... found anything?" Marcus asked. Lord Flint's soul ached to hear the hope leaking into his son's voice.

"No," he answered, throwing the roll of parchment he had been looking at in a corner. Instead of hitting the floor, it stopped halfway through and obediently floated to its correct place in the bookshelves lining the study. "There is no mention of such magic in the family records."

Marcus' face fell. Lord Flint debated what to tell him next; he knew he had been chasing a fool's hope: the Flints were one of the oldest families in Britain, but they had come to the British Isles with William the Conqueror. They had no magic that was even nominally close to the native Celtic magic of Britain.

"It is unlikely that we will find anything," continued Lord Flint. He looked up from his desk to stare at Marcus, who flinched at the attention.

"There is one more thing, Father," Marcus hesitated before plunging on. "The woman who accused me was Corelia Bryant."

"WHAT!" Lord Flint roared, rising in anger. "I told you to kill her!"

"Father, please ..."

Fuming, Lord Flint sat down and motioned for his son to continue his tale. Anger and resentment melted into curiosity as Marcus began his story, and by the end of it, Lord Flint was feeling something he hadn't felt since his first conversation with Marcus' Healers. Hope.

"So you have a son," he mused. Picking up his wand, he pointed it at his son and muttered, "Leglimens."

Marcus cried out in pain, but without any magic in his body, he was unable to resist - he was as helpless as the Muggles the Flints famously despised. Lord Flint fished around his memories, sifting through his son's brain with disregard until he came across the memory he needed - the memory of Marcus' trial. He observed for several moments the woman who was accusing Marcus and the child she carried - the last hope for his family's future. The beginnings of a plan began to form in his head.

"Father?" asked Marcus, gasping for breath as Lord Flint withdrew from his brain.

"Leave," said Lord Flint without emotion, turning around to face the storm outside. "I have much to think about."

So focused was he that he barely registered the door closing as Marcus left, leaving Lord Flint alone with his thoughts.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **This chapter pretty much lays out the agendas of various parties. I've seen some concern in the reviews where no one really seems to know who the protagonist is, because every character seems to have some agenda or some viewpoint the reader disagrees with. Eg Harry stands for what is right, but is too passive. Daphne is active, but leans towards the purebloods. Malfoy has a noble concern (his family) but he's sacrificing too much. Turpin's gang has a right to be upset, but they're going too far. Hermione wants things to be peaceful, but her government is turning against her.

The fact that people are imperfect reflects real life – I have no interest in writing yet another dull super!Harry story where Harry lays bare all the faults in society and defeats the bad guys, and he and Hermione overhaul the Wizarding World to be utopia.

Please Review! Your reviews keep me writing. If you have concerns about the depiction of characters, let me know; I'd love your feedback as I keep writing.


	17. Dinner with the Malfoys

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 17:** Dinner with the Malfoys

Daphne arrived at Malfoy precisely at 8PM. It would be improper for a witch of her breeding to be earlier or later than that. She apparated a few yards away from the Manor and walked the rest of the distance to the gates. The gates opened as she approached and a cowering house-elf was waiting for her.

"This way, Missus," squeaked the elf, bowing deeply. The walkway to the Manor was long and winding, and Daphne had plenty of opportunity to observe the traditional Malfoy opulence as they walked to the front door. Palm trees that should never have survived the English climate lined the path, and in the grounds beyond, Daphne saw a small flock of white peacocks fluttering about. A herd of deer were drinking from a medium sized pond, and at one point, she was sure she saw a Pegasus flying overhead.

The house-elf led her inside where Astoria was waiting to greet her sister.

"Daphne, darling!" cried Astoria, reaching forward to hug her. With anyone else, that would have been an improper greeting, but between sisters, such formalities were dropped.

Astoria was several inches smaller than Daphne and much more petite. Both Greengrass sisters were known for being pretty, but there was something more feminine about Astoria's beauty that attracted aristocrats to her. She was wearing shimmering golden dress robes that seemed to be made of a cloud being hit by sunlight. It made Daphne's plain red gown feel dumpy by comparison.

"You look well," said Daphne with a carefully composed smile.

"As do you," responded Astoria in kind, "although I must take you out shopping - you've been wearing that dress for two years now."

It's perfectly functional, Daphne wanted to retort, but she held her tongue. Astoria locked arms with her, and chatting about whatever Ministry mixer she had been to recently, walked Daphne to the dining room.

Like the rest of Malfoy Manor, the dining room was elegant. A table that could have seated two dozen lay in the center of the room. Magical creatures danced across its legs, carved into the rich mahogany. A large chandelier that seemed to be made of a thousand crystals hung overhead and its light accented every ornament in the room. The table was already laid out, and the utensils on it were made of solid gold. Despite all that opulence, there was a dark feeling around the table - a malignant presence that Daphne knew was more psychological than physical -

"Is that where the Dark Lord ..." whispered Daphne.

"Yes," said Astoria shortly, and she promptly changed the subject. Daphne's breath hitched just a little. It was well known that the Dark Lord had used Malfoy Manor as a base for some portion of the war, and it made her uneasy to think she was having dinner in the same room where the Dark Lord used to take his meals.

They were about to sit when Draco appeared. He hadn't dressed up much for her and was wearing the robes she would typically see him wearing at the Ministry.

"Draco!" said Astoria reproachfully.

"Come now Astoria," said Draco easily, giving her a hug and kissing Daphne's hand. "You know I came from work, and this is practically a work dinner anyway. Daphne and I have much to talk about."

Daphne wasn't aware that this was going to be a work dinner, but she said nothing.

"All the same," Astoria said, folding her hands crossly, but then she dropped the subject. Daphne knew Draco would hear more about it later though - even though their guest was her sister, there were only so many allowances that Astoria could take.

"Shall we?" asked Draco, taking his place at the head of the table. Astoria sat to his right and Daphne to his left. They waited a few moments but nothing happened. "Nibby!"

The Stasis Charm on the food lifted, and delicious, savoury smells wafted up.

"Nibby's a new elf," Astoria offered by way of explanation. "Our old elf died. He's forgetful at times, but his cooking is fantastic. Soup?"

At Daphne's assent, Astoria poured some soup for her. While she did so, Draco brought up the subject of work.

"So I understand you wanted to look at the family library?" asked Draco, helping himself to some soup as well.

Daphne nodded. "Yes. I want to do some research about Druidic magic. I'm sure the Unspeakables have scoured publicly available knowledge, but I know the Malfoy family has a vast collection they don't have access to ..."

"One that they won't have access to any time soon," said Draco, shooting her a piercing look. "You on the other hand are family, so you are welcome to peruse the library. Keep in mind though, that you're not very likely to be successful."

"Why not?" Daphne asked, surprised.

"The Malfoy family migrated to the British Isles from France," said Draco shortly. He wore a composed look on his face, but he was fidgeting with his spoon in the soup bowl, a sign of discomfort Daphne recognized from his Hogwarts days. "The earliest British records from our family date to the 1100's, which unfortunately is well after the loss of the heritage of Ynys Mon."

"Daphne, didn't Father say our family was native British?" asked Astoria.

Draco turned to Astoria with interest. "Native British? You mean from before the Norman Conquest?"

There weren't many families in Wizarding Great Britain that dated to before the Norman Conquest.

"I think so," said Astoria, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Nibby appeared to remove the soup and set out the main course - delicious-looking medallions of beef complemented by a simpler roast chicken. Red meat and white meat always went in tandem at a proper dinner.

"Astoria's right," admitted Daphne. "Father didn't mention it often, and we were instructed not to either for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention, but our family is one of the oldest in Magical Britain. The Greengrasses have always been on the Isles as far as we know, and the first known Greengrass helped Arthur defeat the Saxons at Mount Baddon."

Draco let out a low whistle and a calculating look appeared in his eye that reminded Daphne of how she had felt in his office earlier that week. Fortunately Astoria had caught on as well.

"Draco, I'm going to ask you to not use that information," she said firmly, looking him in the eye. "Those are Greengrass family secrets and as long as Daphne and I are alive, they should remain with us."

"Of course dear," said Draco, without skipped a beat. "Try the chicken as well Daphne, it's absolutely delicious."

And so conversation was deflected towards safer topics.

"So," said Astoria, cutting a small piece of beef for herself. "Are you excited about Tracey?"

"Excited?" Daphne asked. "Why?"

Both Malfoys stared at her in surprise.

"Surely you must have heard," said Astoria. Daphne shook her head; she had heard nothing.

"I haven't been able to meet with Tracey for the past several weeks," she admitted. "It has been rough at the Ministry."

Draco nodded in agreement at her statement.

"You should write to her," he said. "She is being courted by Neville Longbottom." The look on his face implied that there was nothing in the world anyone would want less than to be courted by Neville Longbottom, but Daphne knew Tracey had long since desired to get to know the elusive herbologist. Immediately she yearned to know the details, but she saw the triumphant look in Astoria's eye at knowing something Daphne didn't and she refused to give in to her sister.

Astoria, though, was not to be deterred.

"Have you thought about settling down, Daphne," she persisted. "I met this one charming young man at the Ministry's ball last week ..."

"How does the Ministry still have the budget for balls?" interrupted Daphne, somewhat rudely. She knew where that line of conversation was going, and it was never pleasant for her.

Draco delicately sliced through the last of his beef before answering her. "There was conversation about postponing them to save money," he said, "but the Ministry has managed to ... procure an alternate source of financing."

She looked at him suspiciously, but he refused to meet her eye.

"I'm not allowed to divulge details just yet," he continued, finishing off his plate. Daphne and Astoria had already finished, so Astoria summoned Nibby, who served removed their dishes with a snap of her fingers and replaced the main course with dessert.

The rest of the conversation continued lightly. Astoria chattered on about the social gossip from the Ministry ball that Daphne had no interest in, occasionally bringing up a potential suitor that would be "just perfect" for Daphne. It amused Daphne to note that almost all of Astoria's candidates were second or third sons of vassal houses of the Malfoy family or its allies. Astoria didn't trust her sister in truly high class society, it seemed.

After dessert they retired to the sitting room, where Daphne brought up the subject of the Greengrass family magics again.

"Of course, Daphne," said Astoria cheerfully. "Draco dear, would you like to join us?"

"I must take my leave, love," he said with an expression of regret on his face that, if Daphne hadn't known him better, she would have taken as genuine. "I'm sure you will enjoy your time with your sister. You have much to catch up on."

He kissed his wife on the cheek and gave Daphne a one-sided hug, before retiring to his study.

"Come, Daph," Astoria said, leading her sister through a door in the sitting room. She resorted to Daphne's childhood nickname, now that they were in private. They walked through the door and entered the Entrance Hall of the Manor. Paintings of Malfoy ancestors lined the hall, dating back to the first Malfoy who had emigrated to Britain from France in the 13th Century. Each of them had platinum-blonde hair and an expression of snobbery plastered on their face as they sneered down at the Greengrass girls.

"They don't have much life in them," noted Daphne, for the paintings were barely moving.

"There's not enough magic," answered Astoria, staring up at the paintings regretfully. "It's not like Hogwarts, where there are hundreds of children leaking magic - or even Dad's home, which was much smaller, so there was more magic to go around. Draco says they used to be more lively when he was younger, but children leak out more magic than adults, and Draco was always strong magically. Look at that chandelier, Daphne, it's goblin-made!"

It was indeed goblin-made, for it hung over the stairs to the upper level, gleaming with an artistry that was beyond wizard-kind.

"Solid gold," whispered Astoria. "And the crystals are real diamonds. Absolutely magnificent."

She sounded very pleased with herself, as though she had something to do with the chandelier. Daphne held her tongue.

They ascended up the stairs, taking a left at the hallway. Portraits lined this hall, of various castles and manors.

"All Malfoy properties," said Astoria. "That's the chateau in France where Lucius and Narcissa retired to."

"Do they ever come visit?" asked Daphne, unable to suppress her curiosity.

"Not often," Astoria answered, touching an ornate door handle. The door opened at her touch. "We mostly go out and visit them, but that's happening less and less now that Draco's so busy with work. That's fine with me, they've been on my case for giving Draco an heir."

They stepped into the library, and shelves upon shelves loomed in front of them. They were carved in oak, covered in oak. Daphne reached out with her magic and sensed that ... the books weren't protected at all.

"Those are the standard books you would find in the Hogwarts library, or any manor library," said Astoria dismissively. "Come."

They went toward the bookshelf that lined the northern wall of the room. Here, Daphne sensed some real magic. Astoria touched three books at random, and the bookshelf shuddered. She touched three more, and again, it shuddered. Finally, she pulled out a copy of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, and the bookshelf groaned and vanished from view, leaving behind it a door in the wall.

"Not even Draco knows this is here," she said. "He keeps the Malfoy magics in his study."

The way in which she didn't meet Daphne's eye made her feel suspicious.

"Astoria, has he seen these books?"

Astoria said nothing.

"Astoria!"

Astoria whirled around to face her sister. "You know I brought nothing into this marriage, Daphne!" she said, clenching her fists. "He asked if I would let him see them. What could I have said? He is my Lord."

"You should have let me keep them," hissed Daphne, glaring at her sister. "I shouldn't have let you take them."

"Oh please Daph, what difference does it make? Our house is dead, our family is gone."

"It's not gone, I'm still a Greengrass," retorted Daphne.

Astoria glared at her. "For how much longer? It's long past time for you to settle down - and when you do, why should your family have a right to these magics, and not mine?"

I am the eldest, Daphne wanted to retort, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Her shoulders slumped. Astoria was right - their family was gone. Their father wouldn't have wanted them to fight over a bunch of archaic magics.

"If it makes you feel better, it's not a one way thing," said Astoria softly. "Draco doesn't hide his family magics from me. The Malfoys have some really good charmwork on stitching clothes that I've been reviewing."

Daphne waved her off. "It doesn't matter. Let's go inside."

They walked into the room in silence. It was a small study, with a single bookshelf that lined one of the walls. Astoria tapped the desk with her wand, and a glowing orb appeared above them, lighting up the room.

"We don't use candles," she said by way of explanation. "The smoke damages the books."

Daphne ignored her, fingering the spine of the book on Portkey Magic she used to make her custom portkeys. Her father had taught her most of the magic in that book. Her eyes travelled up to shelf above it, which held the journals of Greengrasses past, and down that shelf to the very end of it. Cyrus Greengrass.

"Dad," she whispered, reaching out to take the book, but instead her hand found Astorias.

"Don't," said her sister. Astoria, usually the shallow social butterfly, had tears in her eyes. "It'll only hurt you."

She guided Daphne to the beginning of that shelf, where the journal of Aemon Greengrass lay.

"Have you read this?" asked Daphne, dabbing her eyes to remove the moistness that must have been visible.

Astoria shook her head. "It's in Latin. The Celts had an oral tradition, so all writing was in the Roman language. I never cared enough to cast a translation charm."

Daphne cast a duplication charm first. It succeeded - the book was so old, it didn't have any copy protection charms on it. Carefully replacing the original back in its place, she cast a translation charm onto the copy. Incomprehensible Latin flickered into English.

"I am Aemon Greengrass," read the first page, "and I was the Wizard Companion of Arthur Pendragon."

A soft gasp alerted her to Astoria looking over her shoulder.

"So it's true," she whispered. "He fought with Arthur. Daph, do you suppose he was Merlin himself?"

Daphne flicked through several pages of the book before answering.

"He was not. He was the successor of Merlin - or perhaps his successor's successor." She continued skimming. "He was a minor Wizard in the Battle of Mount Baddon, where Arthur defeated the Saxons for the final time - his magic seems resolutely Roman."

"Wasn't Merlin a bard?" asked Astoria. "Bards were trained as Druids."

"Perhaps he was," answered Daphne. "He's known as the last of the Druids, but Aemon seems to have been trained in the Roman style. Remember, the Romans ruled Britain for almost 500 years. That's a half-century of stamping out Druidic magic. The land would already have forgotten Druidic magic by then - so used it would have been to Roman magic. I'll have to read this more carefully."

Astoria understood her sister's hidden request. "Why don't you spend the night? That way you won't have to stand on ceremony to leave."

Daphne looked up from the journal to give her sister a grateful look. "That's very kind of you, Astoria. I am happy to accept."

"Fantastic!" She summoned Nibby and gave the elf instructions to let Draco know Daphne was staying the night. When the elf disappeared with a crack, she pulled down a book that held some interest to her and sat down to read with her sister.

Several hours passed by. During that time, Daphne had asked for a quill and parchment, and had started taking meticulous notes.

"Aemon himself only knew Roman magic," she said by way of explanation, "but he saw Merlin perform Druidic magic several times - often at sites of that had, at least at that time, a strong Druidic influence remaining. Stonehenge was one of these sites, as was Mount Baddon itself - I suspect that's what allowed Merlin to assist Arthur in defeating the Saxons, whose magic was also inherently similar to Roman magic."

It was nearing midnight when she finished.

"You're done already?" asked Astoria in surprise. "That is a long journal to finish in a span of two and a half hours."

Daphne shrugged, her eyes gleaming. "Only the portions of his interaction with Merlin were interesting. The rest, I skimmed through. Especially after Merlin's disappearance, the only magic mentioned in his journal is Roman magic."

"Did you find anything about Druidic magic?"

"Yes," answered Daphne, shuffling the pieces of parchment littered across the desk. "At each and every ritual - in every instance of Druidic magic performed - there is one theme. Sacrifice."

Astoria gasped. Sacrificial magic was taboo across much of the Western world, not just in Britain.

"When the Celts wanted something, they sacrificed something in order to get it. When they wanted to know the future for example - Merlin did this several times - they would slice open a prisoner's stomach. From the way his innards fell out as he died, they would predict the future."

"That's horrible," whispered Astoria. "Is that what the Muggleborns are doing?"

Daphne let out a short laugh. "I doubt it. I doubt Granger's idealism would allow it. I suspect she discovered in Druid Shannara's writings the basic principles of the craft, including the dominance of sacrifice, and from it, she deduced enough to develop a working system of magic."

"So they used Nott as the sacrifice when they wanted to keep our forces out of Ynys Mon?"

"Precisely," nodded Daphne. "Now in theory, if we knew the ritual Granger used, we could make a bigger sacrifice, and use that to reverse the ritual Granger did."

"Druidic magic seems incredibly bloodthirsty," commented Astoria. "Perhaps it is well that the Romans did away with it."

Those words would have once been sacrilege in Wizarding Britain, particularly in the more Scottish and Welsh families, where the idea of Celtic magic was held as a paragon of all Magic - a lost Avalon, or an Atlantis whose evidence had been all erased. And now, that Atlantis was coming back to life.

"Indeed," murmured Daphne. She suddenly felt very tired. "Is it all right if I head home, Tori? I can just portkey back ..."

"Nonsense," said Astoria, getting up briskly and returning her book to its place. "Tomorrow's Saturday, and your ICW meeting is on Monday. You can discuss this with Draco over breakfast anyway."

"Why do I need to discuss it with Draco?"

Astoria gave her a look of surprise. "You haven't realized what you've found? Daph, I know you're not very social, but you need to learn how to play the masses. You know Draco knows the editor of the Daily Prophet."

Rough connections started forming in Daphne's head, but she was too tired to follow that line of reasoning. Astoria seemed to pick up on that, and answered her sister's unspoken question.

"The Magic of the Celts was sacrificial magic - they sacrificed blood, life, perhaps even souls to get what they wanted. That's as dark as dark magic gets, Daph. Once the Daily Prophet lets out that that kind of magic is being performed on Ynys Mon, the Muggleborns will have lost the propaganda war. Either they'll have to come clean about the magic they use - a win for us - or people will believe us over them."

And do what then, Daphne wanted to know. They didn't have Granger's rituals, so they couldn't reverse the ritual and re-invade Ynys Mon. She supposed she might as well wait until the morning - Astoria would tell Draco what they had learned and he would leak it to the Prophet anyway. She might as well stick around and learn what her Department would have to deal with in the coming days.

With a sigh, she let her sister pull her up, and guide her to the guest bedroom in Malfoy Manor. She hoped it wasn't the one that had been reserved for the Dark Lord's use in Malfoy Manor, but she didn't dare verbalize that to her hostess.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Saturday found Harry and Hermione at a brunch place in Bangor, the town outside Ynys Mon. It was a small, thriving spot in town, and Harry had started to visited it twice in the his trip to the bank less than a week ago.

Hermione glanced appreciatively at the menu, which was written in Welsh and English. "Nice atmosphere, and its cheap too."

"Everything is cheap compared to London," answered Harry with a grin.

"Fair," she conceded. Their waitress - a college-age girl appropriately clad for a hot summer's day, Harry noted appreciatively - came to take their order. He ordered scrambled eggs with orange juice, and then as Hermione ordered, he let his eyes wander across the street to the muggle bank he had visited.

"Still thinking about it?" Hermione's voice cut in through his thoughts. He turned his face towards her startled, and the waitress was gone.

"Yes," he admitted. "I sent a letter to Gringotts in Diagon Alley, and they haven't responded. I don't know whether that's because the owls can't find me on Ynys Mon, or whether someone has actually cancelled my accounts."

"They would have responded even if you didn't have an account with them though, right?"

"Yeah, I guess ..." he said uncertainly.

"And remember that Sirius was able to access his account even while he was on the run," she pointed out. "Perhaps if we still had Crookshanks, he could do your banking for you."

She ended her statement with a smile, and Harry couldn't help but crack a smile in return.

"I've been thinking of going to Diagon Alley," he said, fidgeting with the cutlery on their table. "I'm tired of leeching on you."

Hermione frowned. "Harry, you know that's a bad idea ..."

"But ..."

"No, hear me out," she cut in. "You know the agreement we had with Greengrass. We can't set foot on Magical Britain until after the ICW meeting. Wait and see how the meeting goes, and then we can decide whether it makes sense."

"I'm not a citizen of Ynys Mon though," he pointed out.

"You're still a fugitive from the Ministry," she shot back. An awkwardly dressed couple wandered in behind Hermione and accidentally bumped against her.

"Oh I'm sorry," simpered the lady, as they sat down on the table next to theirs.

She was wearing professional clothes - a suit with a black jacket and pants. On a weekday, Harry would have assumed that she had had work, but today was Saturday. The man with her, by contrast, was dressed in a golf shirt and pyjamas. It was as if he had forgotten to put on pants. Harry's hand inched towards his wand.

Hermione glanced at him, and their eyes met. She whispered a spell, and a light buzzing appeared in Harry's ear, before fading away.

"Should we go?" asked Hermione in a soft voice.

"Here ye are!" Their waitress walked up with Harry's scrambled eggs and Hermione's pancakes, blocking their view of the strangely dressed couple. "Have a good 'un!"

She walked away, and Harry noticed that the couple was engaged in animated conversation with their waiter, who seemed very uncertain of himself. They genuinely seemed to be there for breakfast, but Harry knew that only wizards could dress that obnoxiously.

"They could just be another couple out in the Muggle world," said Hermione at last, putting her wand away.

Harry wanted to agree, but years' worth of instincts from the War had him on edge. He cast several reinforced shield charms between them and the couple, and then another spell on their dishes. Hermione looked at him in askance.

"Anti-switching spell," he said shortly. Many a witch or wizard had been tricked into drinking a potion by having their goblet switched out with another, poisoned goblet, and Harry didn't want to be one of them. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

He held his fork in his left hand as he started digging into his scrambled eggs, forsaking his knife and using his right hand to grip his wand.

"That you should wait until the ICW meeting is over. It's only a few days out from today," she said, pouring maple syrup in great abundance over her pancakes. Hermione had rebounded from the strict control of her dentist parents, and once she discovered that magic prevented wizards and witches from getting tooth decay, she started delighting in taking as much sugar with her food as she could.

"Fine," Harry said with a sigh. He changed the subject. "How's Ginny doing?"

"Well," answered Hermione grimly. "I drop by and see her everyday. She's more understanding than I would have been in that position, and I've made sure Justin and his lackeys don't mistreat her."

"Does she wish she had done the ritual?" asked Harry.

"Not at all - she's a Weasley. More than anything else, they are a stubborn bunch."

They ate in silence for a few moments, with Harry casting furtive glances at the couple next to them. The lady was fumbling with her handbag and the gent was looking around as if he was in a museum. Harry was certain that they were magical folk.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Hermione at last. "What would you do in my position?"

When Harry had first moved in, she had been particular about keeping the confidentiality of the Council, but after Justin had blocked her for the third time on Ginny, she had stopped caring. As a result, Harry knew a fair bit about the case.

Harry sighed. "That's the trouble with this war."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, setting down her cutlery and looking at him intently.

"The trouble with this war is that it's not clear what is right and what is wrong," he answered. "Againt Voldemort, it was easy. He lied, cheated, raped, tortured his way into getting what he wanted, so he was bad. The Ministry and Dumbledore, for all their faults, were trying to stop him, so they were good. It was easy to see what was right and what was wrong, so we did the right thing - we tried to stop Voldemort."

"Not that we had much of a choice," noted Hermione with a smile. "He kind of had it in for you."

Harry laughed. It felt good to joke about something that had hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles for the better part of his life.

"That is true as well," he said. "My point, though, is that right and wrong, good and evil were clear in that war. Here, you have a situation where releasing Ginny is definitely the right thing to do, but you have to do so many wrong things to do that right thing. You would have to betray the trust of your Council, for starters."

"Yes," said Hermione, sighing. "We're not some schoolkids out trying to save the world. I have an actual mandate from my people."

"On top of that, both sides have big grievances. The Ministry has mistreated Muggleborns since it was formed. Voldemort was the symptom of systematic prejudice, not just the cause. On the other hand, the Council ordered vigilantism against the Queen's subjects, and is now illegally detaining Ginny Weasley."

"It was the will of the people," said Hermione with no small amount of bitterness in her voice. "Public opinion was in favour of retaliation against the worst offenders, and the Council caved."

"The will of the people is not always a good thing," said Harry, finishing off the last of his scrambled eggs. The couple next to him had gotten their food by now. He took a swig of his orange juice. "It's hard for us, who were raised in the Muggle world, to think negatively of democracy, but remember that there was a time when public opinion in Great Britain thought that colonialism was okay and that African people were less evolved than white people."

"What is the alternative?" Hermione asked, sipping her coffee. "A bunch of hereditary seats like on the Wizengamot?"

"Merlin, no," Harry said with a laugh. "I don't know the answer to that question - you were always the brains in the group."

"I can't leave the Council," said Hermione frustratedly, "though I feel like I'm on the verge of resigning. Ynys Mon was my brainchild and I refuse to leave it to Justin's excesses."

"Who knows what would happen without you checking him and Turpin," said Harry, nodding in agreement. "The clever thing to do would be ..."

He was interrupted by a loud clang as his glass of orange juice shook violently and spilled over the table cloth. He whipped around to face the strange couple, and found them both staring at him. The wizard had his wand out. A red beam, possibly a stunner, shot at him, but was neatly intercepted by Harry's shield charms.

Three quick spells later, the man was stunned, tied, and gagged. Besides Harry, Hermione had her wand out and was doing the same to the witch. Shocked gasps rose from the crowd in the restaurant as everyone stopped eating and turned to stare at them. Hermione fished around her wallet and dropped a few bills on the table.

"Hurry," murmured Harry as several loud pops were heard from outside. The obliviators had arrived. He grabbed Hermione's hand and the offending wizard, and with a quick password, the four of them portkeyed away to Ynys Mon.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **More exposition, followed by a bit of action. Let me know what you think of Daphne's discovery and what will happen at the ICW meeting!


	18. The International Conf of Wizards

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 18: **The International Confederation of Wizards

Monday morning found Hermione awake and dressed. She had gotten up at 5AM and been unable to sleep thereafter, so she had instead spent the morning reviewing and re-reviewing her notes. That morning was the culmination of all of Hermione's efforts at securing an independent home for the Muggleborns - that day could make or break it all.

The events of her brunch with Harry had thrown an added wrench into her preparation - the British Ministry had made no efforts at demanding the return of the two prisoners, and the Council was uncertain as to whether the Ministry would treat the capture as a hostile action. Ginny Weasley was also still a prisoner on Ynys Mon, so that was another point the Ministry had against the Council.

The clock struck 9AM, and right on schedule, Hermione tapped a green stone that took her to the village square in the heart of the Ynys Mon settlement. The square was empty except for a couple out for an early morning stroll. Lisa, who was joining her as a member of the Ynys Mon delegation, was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione fidgeted and glanced at her muggle watch. 9:01AM. A cool, crisp breeze was blowing and she could smell the salt in the air They weren't that far from the sea. The couple taking a walk turned around a corner and Hermione was alone again. 9:03AM. It wasn't unlike Lisa to be late, and it got on Hermione's nerves. She half thought Lisa insisted on being late just to annoy her sometimes. 9:05AM.

"Hello Hermione." Lisa was wearing an elegant gown, appropriate for a professional place like the ICW, and she looked perfectly composed. Not a hair was out of place, and Hermione was suddenly very conscious of how her own windswept hair must look.

"Lisa," she answered by way of greeting.

They were the two oldest members of the community, the ones who had founded it all. Lisa had initially seemed like a kindred spirit to Hermione, with her thirst for knowledge and desire for justice, but once she had gotten on the Council, and the Muggleborns had grown enough in number to pose an actual threat to the British Ministry, she had revealed a darker side that made Hermione uncomfortable.

"Let's be on our way," said Lisa airily, handing out a stick. Hermione touched it, and with a murmured password, the two witches disappeared from Ynys Mon and appeared in the Headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards in Brussels.

"Ms Turpin!" A harried looking witch scuttled up to them clutching several rolls of parchment. "Follow me."

This was Hermione's first time visiting the ICW. The witch led them through a hallway adorned with portraits of strange wizards - and hardly any witches, Hermione noted - into a large auditorium, not unlike the Wizengamot at the British Ministry. Rows of benches were arranged in semi-circles around the stage, each a level above the one ahead of it. On either side of the hallway were steps that led to the benches, and in front of each bench was the name of the country being represented in the ICW.

Hermione spotted in the distance a surly looking man sitting at the Bulgarian table - he didn't seem to bear any resemblance to Krum unfortunately. The representatives from France and the other European countries were also strange to her, though Lisa seemed to wave to some representative or the other every few seconds.

Their guide took them up to the very top of the auditorium, towards the benches that were the farthest back. There was no name on that bench, and they were sharing it with a tall man who seemed to be of Indian origin.

"How come we don't get our own table?" Hermione asked the witch.

It was Lisa who answered. "We still only have observer status, until the ICW ratifies our admission. Hello Ismail."

Ismail was evidently the name of the man sitting on their table, for he responded in heavily accented English, "Hello Tracey. Who is your friend?"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione extended her hand out in greeting, but Ismail refused to shake it. Instead, he bowed his head a fraction and considered that greeting enough.

"Ismail prefers not to touch members of the opposite sex," said Lisa. "It's part of his culture."

Hermione couldn't help but feel affronted, but Ismail spoke up again, "Please don't be offended. It is only out of respect for my wife. By the way Lisa, I saved this for you. That British boytoy was handing it out to the representatives."

He gestured towards the British delegation, which Hermione noticed consisted of Daphne Greengrass and Draco Mafoy.

The item in question was the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet. Lisa looked at the headline and let out a snort of laughter.

"What is it?" Hermione asked peering over her shoulder.

"Congratulations," said Lisa gleefully. "We're Dark Witches!"

"MUGGLEBORNS ON YNYS MON ENGAGED IN PROFANE MAGIC!" screamed the headline. Shock and horror gripped Hermione as she snatched the newspaper from Lisa and read it.

It was a damning indictment, appropriately timed for the ICW conference. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced up to Malfoy, who was talking to the Irish delegation. She wouldn't be surprised if he had timed it on purpose.

For all the attention-grabbing nature of the headline, the article itself was surprisingly academic. It described how some researchers at the Ministry had discovered the true nature of Celtic magic and learned that the Magic of the Celts, like their religion, revolved around sacrifice - the sacrifice of blood, magic or even the soul. Could Britain live, the article asked, with a source of such darkness right near its doorstep? It pointed to the fate of Marcus Flint, and noted that the Muggleborns had through their demonic rituals the means to rob good, upstanding Magical folk (Hermione snorted at that) of their magic, permanently.

No, Hermione wanted to scream She felt her blood drain from her face as she gripped the paper tighter and tighter.

"Are you okay?" asked Ismail, staring at her anxiously.

Lisa, too, looked concerned.

"Don't worry about the article, Hermione," she said with a spark of gentleness that reminded Hermione of the Lisa she had befriended. "It's just propaganda, and we have plenty of that to throw right back at them."

The negotiations were supposed to take place after the general ICW meeting, and Hermione forced the article out of her mind as she watched her first ICW meeting with interest.

The first point to be brought was an old concern about some disputed borders between the French and the Germans.

"It's almost a tradition," whispered Ismail. "You can't have an ICW meeting without the French and the Germans at loggerheads."

"The Muggle governments aren't as antagonistic as that," said Hermione.

Ismail shrugged. "Wizards are longer lived. Some of the representatives here were alive during the second World War."

After the French and the Germans were done, the Indian representative was hauled up in front of the ICW, and grilled in front the entire body by the Supreme Mugwump as to why the Indian Ministry had had as many as three violations to the Statute of Secrecy in the past month.

"The Indians are notoriously bad at hiding magic, aren't they Ismail?" asked Lisa, watching with some amusement.

Ismail snorted. "How do you hide magic in such a populated country? They have wizards and muggles living on top of each other, practically."

And so it went, on and on, one minor dispute after another. Hermione tuned it out as she began shuffling through her papers, muttering to herself in preparation for their meeting. As the beginnings of a plan began to form in her head, she was shocked out of her reverie by a sharp elbow from Lisa.

She looked up to find Draco Malfoy on the stage.

"He asked to say a few words right before the Supreme Mugwump called for the dismissal," growled Lisa, staring intently at Malfoy, who was casting a Sonorous Charm on himself.

"Wizards and Witches of the ICW," he began. "As you all know, a month ago, there was a mild disagreement between two parties in Magical Britain that led to the ICW brokering the formation of an independent territory in the British Isles - the territory of Ynys Mon."

The ICW had done no such thing, Hermione knew. They had all but told Lisa to duke it out with the Ministry, and that Ynys Mon would be recognized if the Ministry agreed to it. Yet Malfoy was a born politician, and he knew to stroke the egos of the representatives.

"Today, Britain comes asking you for your help. Ynys Mon agreed to terms that dictated the release of all British prisoners in exchange for secession. Yet today, Ynys Mon enjoys its so-called Independence while blatantly disregarding the terms of the agreement and holding a British witch hostage."

Angry mutters filled the hall. Many of those nodding their heads approvingly, Hermione noticed, had copies of the Daily Prophet on their tables.

"Moreover," continued Draco, "the territory they have established is a haven of Dark Magic - arcane sacrificial magic, the kinds of which is outlawed by this august body."

He pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet and cast a spell that projected its front page in front of the entire hall, so that even those who had not seen the newspaper could see a picture of Flint strapped to a bed and the caption detailing the loss of his magic.

Several representatives turned now, to look at Hermione and Lisa.

The Supreme Mugwump took to the stage.

"Does Ynys Mon have a a response?" he asked, eyes travelling to Hermione and Lisa. Lisa made to move, but Hermione put a hand on her shoulder to stay her, and got up

"Mr Malfoy," she said after casting a Sonorous charm, "the ICW does not have a mandate to involve itself in the internal matters of Britain. This is an international body, meant to resolve disputes between countries, not within them. Unless you intend to recognize Ynys Mon as an independent country?"

Even from up here, she could see Malfoy's lips thinning and the look of displeasure on her face. It made her hate herself - how twisted was the world, that she had found herself in a position where Malfoy of all people was attempting to save Ginny and Hermione was keeping her prisoner.

"That is true, Madam," said the Supreme Mugwump. "This dispute cannot be addressed in the ICW until Britain recognizes Ynys Mon as an independent entity. However Ynys Mon still has to answer Britain's claims about outlawed Magic, for that does fall within our domain."

Again, Lisa made to get up, and again Hermione pushed her down.

"The ICW has made exceptions in the past," said Hermione staring straight at the Supreme Mugwump. He gazed back at her with a piercing look, but she refused to avert her eye. "Countries whose magic has always been inherently sacrificial have been allowed to practise it. The Fiji Islands wizards still have the blessing of the ICW to practise their native magic, and so do the wizards of Micronesia. As the inheritors of Celtic Magic - inherently sacrificial in nature, as Mr Malfoy noted - Ynys Mon should be allowed to practise its magic."

"The ICW has strict regulations on the kind of magic Micronesia and Fiji are allowed to practise," noted the Supreme Mugwump with a frown.

"Regulations we are aware of and continue to abide by," assured Hermione. "The Wizard Mr Malfoy just showed us voluntarily sacrificed his magic - though I'm sure Mr Malfoy forgot to remind us of that. After the dispute with Britain is resolved, Ynys Mon will apply for the same protected status as Fiji and Micronesia."

"The inheritors of Celtic Magic are the people of Magical Britain," shot back Malfoy.

"Then Ynys Mon has no objection to the British Ministry applying for that same protected status," answered Hermione easily.

Malfoy opened his mouth to object, but the Supreme Mugwump banged his mallet on the podium.

"This conversation will be moved to the meeting scheduled later today between Ynys Mon and Britain," he said shortly. "Mr Malfoy, if there is sacrificial magic being used on Ynys Mon, and since Ynys Mon has not been ceded by Britain, you have 180 days to apply for an exemption on behalf of Britain and appear before the ICW justifying your request."

Hermione gripped Lisa's hand in delight. There was no better outcome to be hoped for, and she relished especially the displeased look on Malfoy's face.

The ICW adjourned and the members shuffled away for their recess. The wizard who had brought them to the ICW hall reappeared.

"Come, Ms Turpin!" he cried. "It's time."

It was time indeed, reflected Hermione, clutching her papers tightly. She took a deep breath and followed the frantic wizard. Lisa strode besides her with a sense of purpose, exuding a confidence that Hermione wished she could emulate. For a moment, her thoughts wandered back to Ynys Mon and she wished Harry was with her ... she always felt more confident around him.

The room they were taken into looked unlike any rooms Hermione had seen in a Wizarding building. The out-facing wall was covered in giant windows from floor to ceiling and a beautiful lake surrounded by lush, green scenery lay outside, and in the middle of the room was a round table with five seats around it. Malfoy and Greengrass were already there, and with a representative of the ICW.

"My name is Erik," said the ICW representative by way of introduction. "Are you all familiar with each other?"

All of them nodded, neither party taking its eyes of the other.

"Excellent," said Erik brightly. "Shall we be seated? The first thing we will be doing is setting the agenda."

Setting the agenda was a formality - it had already been agreed upon by both sides - so Hermione was surprised when Greengrass spoke up.

"We'd like to add one more item to the list," she said quietly. "A British wizard and witch were kidnapped from the Isles last week. We wish to discuss the circumstances of that kidnapping."

"Noted," said Erik cheerfully. He was much too cheerful, Hermione though, though perhaps that was the intention - that he should lighten the atmosphere in the room to prevent tensions from riding too high. "Any objections from Ynys Mon?"

There were none, so the negotiations officially began.

"The first item is the fulfillment of the conditions of secession," said Erik, looking over the piece of parchment on which the agenda was written. Malfoy cleared his throat.

"Britain made it clear that we are willing to agree to the secession provided all British wizards and witches are returned to Britain. Yet, Ynys Mon has persisted in illegally detaining a witch - Ginny Weasley - and dishonouring its earlier agreement."

"Ynys Mon agreed to release all British Wizards and Witches," said Lisa nonchalantly. "We didn't say when."

"And Britain agreed to cede Ynys Mon," shot back Malfoy. "We didn't say when."

Lisa smiled widely.

"It seems like you have a 180 day deadline, then," she said. "The ICW has very strict regulations on the use of sacrificial magic, right Erik? I'm sure Britain will have trouble paying the fines that come with violating those rules - I hear money's a little tight in Ministry coffers."

Greengrass cleared her throat, drawing attention to herself.

"What are Ynys Mon's demands?" she asked.

"Recognition," answered Hermione, "as an independent governmental entity within the realm of Her Majesty."

"And you shall have it once Ginny Weasley is returned," said Greengrass smoothly, cutting off whatever Malfoy was about to say. She spoke with quiet authority that made Hermione want to listen to her. "Let me be clear, Granger, this isn't a negotiation. We agreed to terms. If you can't uphold your side of the bargain, don't expect us to uphold ours."

"We released all your prisoners, besides Ginny," began Hermione. "Surely that ..."

"That counts for nothing," cut in Greengrass, eyes glinting. "Britain protects each and every one of its citizens. Our agreement to let you wander the realm of Her Majesty expires today. It's true that we cannot attack you directly, but we can make life very difficult for you."

Lisa stiffened. "I'd like to see you try," she said slowly.

"Oh we will," said Greengrass with a pleasant expression that belied the seriousness of the conversation. She looked almost as if she were at a tea party. "As of midnight tonight, any wizard or witch who has been identfied as a defector to Ynys Mon will be caught and imprisoned. Those with direct ties to your government will be sentenced to a Dementor's Kiss."

"The Queen ..." began Hermione, but again Greengrass cut her off.

"The Queen delegates law enforcement to the Ministry of Magic. By acting as vigilantes and engaging in magic outlawed by the ICW, you have reduced this to a law enforcement matter. If you act like terrorists, you will be treated as terrorists - and let me assure you, the Queen does not like terrorists."

"The Queen does not tolerate systematic abuse of an entire population, or discrimination against her subjects," said Hermione frostily. "Several citizens of Ynys Mon have stories that I'm sure the Queen will love to hear."

"Obtain an audience with the Queen then," said Greengrass mildly. "Ministry photographers have some really graphic pictures of the Notts."

She shuffled through her papers and pulled out a photograph, sliding it over to the Ynys Mon delegation.

"Oh thank you!" said Lisa, with an expression of delight on her face. "I had wished I'd taken a picture of that. Did you know, Nott systematically raped one of my closest friends at Hogwarts? She committed suicide not soon after graduating."

Hermione took one look at the picture and raw bile rose to her throat. She looked at Greengrass, who was staring back at her stoically, and then at Lisa, who had a glint in her eye - the kind of glint that always pushed Hermione on the back foot, the kind that had started appearing more and more since Ynys Mon grew to size where it needed a Council to govern it.

For the first time, Hermione wondered if her friend was going insane. Her thoughts swirled and she started connecting the dots. Lisa's increasingly casual disdain of governmental affairs, her erratic behaviour that was getting worse and worse, her history - the year spent with Count Conner - pointed towards that conclusion.

Her hand shook. She debated for a moment calling Lisa out, but that would be absolute wrong time to do it. Not in front of Malfoy and Greengrass. Later though, there would be answers later. Greengrass spoke again.

"Additionally, none of the children of Ynys Mon will be accepted at Hogwarts this Fall."

"But the Hogwarts charter forbids Hogwarts from partaking in politics!" said Hermione.

Malfoy levelled her an amused look.

"Why does it matter, Granger?" he asked. "Hogwarts is a British school - if you get your cherished independence, do you think Hogwarts would accept Ynys Mon applicants then?"

"The Headmistress is on board with us on this," said Greengrass. "Those photographs are remarkably convincing. At this moment we have wizards on Ynys Mon ..."

Hermione and Lisa both got up in alarm.

"Don't worry Granger, no one's using any magic on your precious Muggleborns," said Malfoy, looking as though he seriously wished that wasn't the case.

"They're just making sure your band of people is informed of our conditions. No Ynys Mon wizards or witches may step onto British territory. Your access to our markets will be denied. Your children will not go to our school. I suspect," Greengrass added, "that many of your citizens will find that British citizenship is maybe not so bad after all."

"And if you want to end this," continued Malfoy, "release Ginny Weasley. And release the other witch and wizard you captured."

Hermione seized on that comment as if it were a lifeline.

"That witch and wizard attacked me and one of our wizards on Muggle territory," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Wasn't that a blatant violation of our agreement?"

"We do not know yet if they were directed by any Ministry personnel," said Greengrass mildly. "It's possible that they were; in any case, the attack took place in Ministry jurisdiction and per Her Majesty's mandate, they will be tried in Ministry courts. You'll remember, Granger, that you have your enemies in the Wizarding World. Any Wizard off the street could have recognized you and decided to attack you."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Lisa stood up suddenly.

"Well, it's obvious this negotiation isn't going anywhere," she said cheerfully. "Malfoy, Greengrass, we're not beholden to your government. IF you harm Ynys Mon or any of our citizens - on Ynys Mon or on the mainland - the Council will consider that an Act of War. It probably won't be a very fun war for you, given you'll never be able to enter Ynys Mon with any strength, and we'll be able to strike within the heart of magical Britain."

Malfoy and Greengrass remained stony-faced, not reacting even slightly to Lisa.

"Come now," cried Erik, "surely we can come to some sort of agreement - perhaps Ynys Mon can at least explain why they're so keen on holding Ginny Weasley … perhaps Britain will understand that reasoning."

Hermione knew she couldn't explain it - she couldn't explain it without blaming the Council, and all that would do would be to give Malfoy more ammunition to use against Ynys Mon. With a disappointed sigh, she stood up wordlessly and followed Lisa out of the room. Her eyes met Malfoy's as she left, and he raised an eyebrow at her - as if to ask her what she was doing, why she wouldn't let Ginny go, and a feeling of intense shame rolled over her. This was not the community she had imagined. It wasn't the kind of community she wanted to defend.

It was too late though. Far too late.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

At first, nothing came of the Ministry's visit to Ynys Mon. Two portly bureaucrats had been sent, and with bureaucratic dullness, they had informed the residents of Ynys Mon of the terms offered by the Ministry.

All those who came back would get their old jobs back. Some would get raises or promotions. Their kids would get to go to Hogwarts. They would get Auror protection from any abuse by any purebloods. Those who stayed would be treated as enemies of the Ministry and Magical Britain and would be barred from participating in Magical Society in the future.

A handful of families left with the bureaucrats. They were mostly the families who had recently come to Ynys Mon - for they had yet to experience the wonder of Magic that Ynys Mon had offer. But slowly, they were followed by other families - primarily those whose children were Hogwarts age. None of the Muggleborns believed the Ministry's promise of protection - they had lived in the Wizarding World too long to put any trust in the Ministry - but most of them had very fond memories of Hogwarts and were loathe to deny their children that education. For the first time since its conception, the immigration in Ynys Mon went net negative.

The Council met several times to try and do something about the problem, but Hermione's constitution was iron clad - there was nothing they could do to detain those who chose to leave. Not for the first time, Hermione regretted the lack of loopholes she had built in it. Draco Malfoy, the Council had learned, was taking a special interest in these returning Muggleborns, heralding them as heroes in the press, making sure they settled back into Magical Britain. Malfoy, just like the Council, knew that conflict was brewing and he was keen to take all the information he could get.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

It was George. The Council had recessed, and the members were clumped together in the Council room, talking in small groups. The dim light of twilight peeped in through the windows, forming eerie shadows on the spartan interior walls.

"I'm thinking about this new emigration problem," said Hermione sadly.

George sat down next to her with a sigh.

"I tried pushing the word that this was on Justin," he said quietly, "That he should have let Ginny Weasley go and we wouldn't be in this mess."

Hermione's eyes flicked to where Justin was standing, talking to Mrs Khan.

"How did that go?"

"It wasn't well received," admitted George. "Justin's following is loyal - he's said that the Ministry couldn't be trusted to keep their part of the bargain anyway, so why should we keep ours. A few weeks ago, before the Ministry came, I would have at least been heard out. This time, I was called a pureblood agent and tossed out faster than you could say quidditch."

Hermione turned her body to face him.

"Why were they so aggravated?" she asked.

George stared past her at the door.

"The people who're leaving, they're disproporionately our people," he said, lowering his voice. "They're the reasonable ones, the sane ones who're getting afraid of this talk of fighting to teach the purebloods a lesson. They're the ones who want to live in peace. The people getting left behind are the fanatics."

Hermione let out a low whistle. "But we've only had a few dozen families that have left! The demographic shift can't be that large."

"It is," said George grimly. "Not in absolute numbers, but proportionally, Remember how precarious the balance was even before this - and now, Justin's group now has a significant advantage over us. If elections were to happen now, it's almost certain Mrs Khan or I would be replaced by one of his lackeys, giving him a permanent advantage."

"He has no motivation to stop those fleeing to Britain, or to treat with the Ministry," whispered Hermione.

"None at all. All this is only strengthening him."

Feeling sick to her stomach, Hermione got up suddenly and excused herself. She felt alone, overwhelmed. There was little she could do to stop Justin from hijacking the community she built, or to stop it from running headlong into an unncessary war. In the distance - she didn't know if she was imagining them or if they were real - the war drums started beat.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **So it begins … again. Let me know what you think!


	19. Fiendfyre

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 19**: Fiendfyre

It had been several weeks since Daphne had last had one of her weekly lunches with Tracey. Being the Head of the DMLE was a demanding job, but after a scathing note from Tracey, Daphne reluctantly dragged herself away from work one afternoon and apparated to Diagon Alley.

Tracey was already sitting at their usual table, and after their customary greetings, she levelled Daphne a piercing look.

"I should congratulate you on your promotion," she said coolly, "except now it seems you don't have time for me."

"I do," protested Daphne. Tracey raised an eyebrow, and Daphne sighed and corrected herself. "I try to, but you know how things are these days with the Muggleborns, Madam Bones and I are working day and night to develop defense plans in case of an attack."

"Don't such plans exist from the war against the Dark Lord?"

Daphne shook her head. "Not really. The DMLE was severely underfunded throughout the Fudge administration. Funding didn't return to normal levels until the war against the Vampires."

Their conversation was interrupted by the waitress bringing their food out. Daphne ordered a chicken sandwich, and by the time the waitress left, Tracey wasn't much interested in talking about the DMLE any more. Daphne had missed hearing about quite a few social events since their last lunch together, and Tracey seemed determined to cover them all in their lunch hour.

"How's Potter doing?"

The question came out of nowhere. Tracey had been telling her about some ball or the other that she attended, and out of the blue, she brought up Harry.

"I'm not sure," said Daphne guardedly. "He escaped the Ministry a while ago."

"I see," said Tracey, with a knowing look on her face. She seemed to be trying to suppress a smile. "I'm being courted by Neville Longbottom."

Daphne gasped. "Seriously?"

"Yes." Her friend glowed with happiness. Neville had been Tracey's longstanding crush, since their Hogwarts days.

"Congratulations!" gushed Daphne. "How did that happen?"

"We met at a Herbologists' convention," answered Tracey with a smile, her eyes dancing. "He asked me out for a Butterbeer. We hit it off, and he owled my Dad and asked if he could court me."

Oppressed as she felt on all sides and by the gravity of her work life, Daphne seized on Tracey's good news as if it were a lifeline.

She leaned forward and said, "Tell me all about it."

And so Tracey did - she seemed taken aback by Daphne's interest but relished it nevertheless. They talked for the length of Daphne's lunch hour, and when they were getting up and saying their goodbyes, Tracey brought up her original question again.

"If you hear from Potter," she began hesitantly, "tell him ... tell him I said thank you."

Daphne's guard went up again. "For what?"

"He owled Neville, letting him know I was also studying to be a Herbologist and encouraging him to get in touch," answered Tracey, watching Daphne carefully. "Otherwise Neville would probably have not introduced himself at the convention."

"I ... I will let him know."

With a smile and a hug, the other witch disapparated, leaving Daphne alone to think about her enigmatic friend and former partner. Harry certainly had a way of winning people over.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

There was no good news these days, thought Hermione frustratedly. The British public had been demanding to know where Harry Potter was, and whether he had fought against the Muggleborns on Ynys Mon. They were loathe to believe that he had - surely their hero who had defeated the Dark Lord wouldn't have lost to a "rag tag group of Muggleborns," as the Daily Prophet was still calling them, so easily.

And now the Ministry had responded - with an interview in the Daily Prophet that laid the blame on Harry and Hermione's shoulders. Harry was a plant all along, the Minister insisted. The Muggleborns had put him there to hinder the Ministry's good efforts at solving the first murders, and he had disappeared to fight for the Muggleborns, right when Britain needed him.

Why, the reporter had asked the Minister, and the Minister's response had been two words: Hermione Granger. It all went back to Hermione Granger, thought Hermione bitterly. The Wizarding World hated her; they loved to blame her for their problems. It weighed on her, and as the political balance on Ynys Mon shifted against her and in favour of Justin, she felt more and more exhausted, more and more on the verge of giving up.

"Surely this," said Hermione to the Council, "is reason enough to grant Harry Potter citizenship. It's clear that he will be persecuted if we force him back."

The Council was in session again, and Hermione was determined to resolve Harry's citizenship case once and for all. The mood in the room was mixed, but Lisa seemed to be having a relatively normal day, so Hermione was optimistic.

"There are any number of countries Potter can go to that would be happy to have him," said Justin crossly. "I don't see why it has to be us - and in any case, the Prophet is printing lies as usual, everyone knows that."

"Wizarding Britain does not," said Mrs Khan. "Our intelligence says that Mr Potter's popularity hasn't been this low since before the Dark Lord fell."

"For that matter, neither does the public of Ynys Mon," said George carefully. The consummate politician, he was watching Justin's face carefully. "They're not so opposed to the idea any more."

"The question is one of precedence," said Deborah Klein, her narrow face pinched into a scowl. "I don't think we can afford to set this precedence."

"Agreed," said Joe Smith, the last council member.

They turned, all of them facing Lisa, the only one who hadn't spoken yet. She would be the tiebreaking vote, they all knew.

Lisa tapped her chin, deep in thought. Hermione had learned to read her body language well enough to know that the wild Lisa who threw caution into the wind wasn't in control right now. This was the calm Lisa who had founded Ynys Mon with Hermione.

"I stand by what I said earlier," she said at last, facing Hermione. "Potter needs to contribute to Ynys Mon in some extraordinary fashion. We know he can't do so financially any more."

"He can't?" asked George, leaning forward.

Lisa shook her head, lifting her copy of the Daily Prophet. "There's another article on the back page. Potter's fortune was confiscated by the Ministry. He's been accused of treason, which is about the only charge the goblins will actually freeze a Gringotts account for. If he doesn't show up for his trial, the money'll be gone for good. I don't doubt that it's a trumped up charge - we all know the Ministry is short of cash - but the fact is, Potter doesn't have his fortune any more."

Hermione let out a low whistle. She hadn't seen that; it would certainly explain why the Ministry had been unusually vitriolic.

Lisa spoke again, "There is one more way he can contribute - he can fight. We know there will be a conflict with the Ministry sooner or later. Will Potter fight for us?"

"We don't need him," interjected Justin. "The Ministry can't raise a finger against us. And frankly, I don't trust Potter. This looks like a ruse to get Potter in so the Ministry can have a spy."

"Harry came to Ynys Mon so he wouldn't have to fight," admitted Hermione. "I can ask him, but I don't expect him to be keen on it."

"If he's not going to be keen on it, Justin's right - we can't trust him," said Lisa grimly. "We're too new, too fragile still to trust newcomers who aren't fully dedicated to the cause."

"He won't betray me," said Hermione firmly.

"He has no money," said Lisa. "The Ministry is not above using his family assets as a lure to turn him against us. I know you think Potter doesn't care about money, Hermione, but Potter has always had money. Now that he doesn't, maybe he'll start caring. I think I'm decided; would you call the vote?"

And that was that, thought Hermione dully. She called the vote, and sure enough, her motion was struck down, 4-3. Harry would have to leave.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

While Hermione was in the Council, Harry was once again in the town of Bangor on the British mainland. Tired of leeching off of Hermione and cut off from his inheritance, he had taken up a job at a small diner off of Main St in Bangor. His childhood chores at the Dursleys had trained him well for his new job in the kitchen.

"'ere's some more dishes for ya, 'Arry," said Ali. Ali was the son of a Bangladeshi immigrant who had been working at the diner for 10 odd years now. His dark brown skin made him an unlikely candidate for a thick Welsh accent, but these were the realities of the Muggle World in the 21st Century.

"Thanks Ali," answered Harry cheerfully. Elbow deep in soap suds, he was diligently scrubbing the pots and pans in which the chefs had cooked lunch that afternoon. It was the lull between lunch and dinner, and after a quick glance across the kitchen, Ali decided he could spare a moment to chat with Harry.

"So 'ows ya liking it 'ere?"

"I love it," answered Harry, flashing Ali a grin while not slowing down in the slightest. Ten years of service meant Ali could take some liberties in the restaurant, but Harry was new and the service industry was a cruel taskmistress. He had already been given a talking to by the manager for slacking.

"Surprisin', considerin' yer a city lad."

Curiosity shone in his eyes, and Harry could tell Ali was fishing for answers. Why was a seemingly well brought up city lad working a dead end job in a small restaurant in the sleepy town of Bangor?

"City life can be tiring; Bangor suits me more."

Ali opened his mouth to respond, but a polite cough interrupted them. Harry whirled around, hand going for his wand, and to his utter surprise, standing before them in full wizard regalia, looking completely out of place in that cramped Muggle kitchen, was Draco Malfoy.

"May I borrow you for a second, Mr Potter?" His voice was polite, but disdain shone on his face. His eyes travelled to Harry's bare arms, dripping in soap suds, and Harry suddenly couldn't help but feel extremely self conscious.

"Now see 'ere," began Ali, deciding he needed to exert authority. "Mr Potter's on the job for another couple o' hours, you can 'ave him ... why don't ya take a break Mr Potter, ye look dead tired. I'll cover for ya."

Malfoy's hand had snuck under his robes and Harry recognized the telltale signs of the Confundus on Ali's face.

"Mr Potter."

It burned Harry to have to follow Malfoy, but there wasn't a way he could avoid doing so without kicking up a fuss. Hand clutching his wand, he strode outside with Draco past Main St.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he said in a low voice, deliberately omitting the title. A crease appeared on Malfoy's forehead, indicating that his slight had not been missed.

"Do try not to be a petty schoolboy, Mr Potter."

Harry ground his teeth and said nothing. They reached a small stream that ran through Bangor and found a shaded alcove. Malfoy pulled out his wand, and with a flourish, cast a number of privacy charms.

Harry opened his mouth to repeat his question, but before he could do so, Malfoy pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet from that morning. Across the front page was splattered the Minister's damning interview, which declared Harry a traitor.

Harry glanced through it, unimpressed. He had read the paper with Hermione that morning.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You've seen today's, then?"

"I have."

"Then you'll know that your fortune has been confiscated, you're branded a traitor, and there's a bounty on your head?"

"Are you going to try and get that bounty?" Harry challenged, staring Malfoy in the eye.

"Oh don't be a plebeian Potter, Merlin knows, I have the money I need. I'm here to make you an offer," said Malfoy.

There was a glint in his eyes that unnerved Harry.

"An offer?" he asked warily.

Malfoy turned to stare over the stream. A small muggle family was boating on it, laughing merrily.

"I have some hold over the Minister," admitted Malfoy. "If you do me a favour, I can have him retract his … charges."

"I won't buy my innocence from you, Malfoy. I did nothing wrong, and you know it!"

"I do," agreed Malfoy mildly. "But you know enough of our world to know that sometimes that isn't enough. Why, surely you remember what happened to your own Godfather."

Harry did, indeed remember, and his knuckles started hurting from how tightly he was gripping his wand. The little girl in the Muggle family was pointing frantically at them. Harry wondered how she could see them after Malfoy's privacy charms.

"She's a witch," said Malfoy softly. "A strong one, if she can see past my notice-me-not charm."

A taunt rose within Harry, questioning Malfoy's spellcasting abilities, but he suppressed it. Malfoy had been civil so far.

"What do you want?" he asked at last. "Before you ask, I won't sell out Hermione or Ynys Mon."

Malfoy turned towards him again. On the boat, the little girl's brother was laughing at her and tugging her hair. The girl started to cry.

"I'm not asking you to sell anyone out," he said. He paused and seemed to deliberate over his next words. "You know Ginny Weasley is held by Ynys Mon? I want you to get her out."

That could hardly be it. "And?"

"And what?" asked Malfoy.

"You don't want me to capture Turpin? Bring in Hermione? Take down Ynys Mon from within? Spy for you and feed you information?"

That seemed to make Malfoy snap.

"Look Potter, I'm trying to do your friends the Weasleys a favour. Personally I'm surprised you haven't rushed in and tried to save her yet - Merlin knows you have a knack for doing stupid things like that."

"Hermione …" began Harry, but Malfoy cut him off, grey eyes shining with anger.

"Since when have you waited for the people in charge to accomplish anything?" he sneered. "Get her out. That's what you're good at, that's what you can do. And if you do, I can spin the Minister a tale about how you were sent undercover to retrieve Weasley and he'll lap it up. You'll be able to come to Britain, and you'll have your money back …"

"I don't need the money," shot back Harry.

"I'm sure you must enjoy being a house-elf for the Muggles, Potter," said Malfoy derisively, "That's a great way for the hero of the Wizarding World to spend his life - washing dishes he could clean with a flick of his wand. In any case, my offer stands. Bring me Ginny Weasley."

He turned on his heel to stalk off. As he lowered the wards, he paused to say one more thing.

"Remember Potter, I was the one who told Greengrass to go save you. She wasn't even thinking of you. I'm past the stupid Hogwarts rivalries, and I pray to the gods that you are too."

There was a loud splash on the stream - the little girl had fallen in the river. Her mother screamed.

"Mobilicorpus."

She was floating, out of the river and towards the bank. Malfoy had cast the spell, a scant 12 feet from Harry. Her father, who had been paddling frantically towards her stopped and stared in alarm. The boat bobbed slowly in the water, the only sound being the mother's screaming.

The girl landed on the bank and Malfoy cast a quick drying charm on her. She looked up at him in wonder and with wide blue eyes.

"Listen to me," he said raising his voice enough so Harry could hear. "Your parents and your brother won't remember this, but remember that you are special. You have magic, and there are others like you. We will come for you when you're eleven and teach you magic. Okay?"

"Okay," the girl sniffled, staring up at Malfoy. She could hardly have been seven or eight. "Thank you, Sir."

Malfoy summoned the boat towards the bank and, as the girl watched, he cast an obliviate on her parents and her brother and disapparated with a pop.

"Come Sammy," said the father cheerfully. "I'm not sure how we got to the bank, but get back on the boat!"

As Harry watched, she clambered onto the boat, and as her father paddled out onto the stream, again, her eyes remained fixed on the spot at which Malfoy had disapparated from. All of a sudden, he felt very very childish and Malfoy seemed very very mature by comparison.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

When Harry went back to work, Ali was still mindlessly doing Harry's dishes. It had barely been an hour or so - and Ali was in charge so no one had stopped by to ask where Harry had been.

He spent the rest of the day deliberating over Malfoy's offer. His mind wandered to his homecoming at the Burrow, to Ginny's somewhat cool welcome. Should he get involved, he wondered? Especially with his citizenship for Ynys Mon in the works, he felt inclined not to, but then he remembered Mrs Weasley and how she must be reacting to the disappearance of her only daughter and his heart grew troubled again.

At eight o' clock that evening, he checked out of the restaurant. The summer sun was setting and his day's wages weighed in his pocket. He wondered if he should get Hermione something, and settled on buying a pair of Mars Bars - one for each of them. He was a sucker for Mars Bars, and Hermione loved all things sweet.

She was already in the cottage when he arrived, and from her gloomy expression when he entered, he knew immediately that something was wrong.

"What happened?" he asked, alarmed.

She told him the day's events, what the Council had decided, and as she did so, Harry found himself feeling strangely relaxed. It should have bothered him, but it didn't.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she sniffed, wiping her nose. "I promised you you could stay …"

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," he reassured her. "I have plenty of other options."

His head was churning, and his thoughts kept going back to Malfoy's offer from earlier in the day. Had Malfoy known? Harry doubted it, but he had no idea how far the blonde ferret's reach went. It was possible he had spies on Ynys Mon.

Could he rescue Ginny?

Now that Ynys Mon had turned him away, he felt no qualms about doing so. His only concern was Hermione - would he get her in trouble by trying to rescue Ginny? There was no way he could ask her directly, of course - she wouldn't be comfortable with that. And yet - he eyed her critically - she was upset enough, disheartened enough at Ynys Mon, that if he hinted at it, gave her an idea of what he might be doing, she might be okay with it. It would give her plausible deniability - a soothing balm for a guilty mind. After all, Ginny was her friend too.

" … can get in touch with my friends in the continent," she was saying. "The Council has given you a week to leave the Island."

"Hermione," he interrupted. He gave her a meaningful look. "Where's Ginny being kept?"

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. He watched the emotions flick across her face - confusion, understanding, doubt, and then her expression hardened with resolve.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

"Lisa."

Hermione jogged to catch up to her old friend, who was taking a stroll around the village pond. Those late August days were the best part of summer in that part of Wales - the brunt of the summer heat had passed, dulled by cool winds from the North. Many families were out by the pond, more than one having a picnic, but they weren't nearly as relaxed as Hermione remembered them being before the Council had authorized its attacks on prominent Muggleborn abusers. The sceptre of the Ministry hung low over these people.

"I'm sorry about Harry, Hermione," spoke Lisa. She was watching a couple feed their newborn child. "I know you wanted him to enjoy this as well."

They stood together in silence. Hermione mulled over how far she could go, what she could ask, what she could say.

"I know you're worried about me," said Lisa. Hermione jerked up in surprise. "I can tell by the looks you've been giving me, since the ICW meeting."

She didn't think she had been that obvious.

"No one else seems to have picked up on it," continued Lisa. "Sometimes I wonder if I have too … I see it now, I feel in control. But there are times - times when I'm not. And part of me retreats within me … and I get scared. I act like I'm not, but I'm really scared."

Hermione hesitated.

"We're both Muggleborn," she said softly. "You know the research on this. Heaven knows, you've had a rough life - this could easily be Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia, anything … you've said before you have PTSD."

"I do," said Lisa with a nod. A gust of wind blew a leaf from a tree and landed on the baby's nose, and it cooed in delight. Lisa shivered in pleasure. Hermione couldn't help but smile as well. "But they don't, and that's what's important."

"Then why do you insist on fighting?"

Lisa frowned. "I want to protect them," she said at last. "I want them to be safe, to have a safe place to live and grow and be free."

"That's why we worked to build this," said Hermione, gesturing towards the Village, brimming with life on that summer's evening.

They stood together a few more moments in silence, watching as the sun descended over the canopy of the forest surrounding the clearing. The insects that came out at dusk started to become annoying, and Hermione pricked her finger, casting with that drop of blood an insect-repelling charm on herself and Lisa.

"You should get help, Lisa. If not for your sake, then for Ynys Mon. With your position on the Council …"

Lisa frowned and Hermione trailed off. She wondered if she had overstepped her bounds, if crazy Lisa would come running out and antagonize her.

"I'll think about it."

Hermione studied her face. Lisa looked contemplative, gazing at the village.

"I don't think it's right for me to leave the Council," she continued. "I don't think I'm that far gone yet. But you're right - I do have some problems, and maybe seeing a shrink will help. For Ynys Mon."

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. She was about to respond when a sharp tingle ran up her right arm. Lisa felt it too, and both witches whirled to face the forest. The perimeter ward had been triggered.

The ward was designed to convey the emotions of any unauthorized people crossing it to the Council. They had felt curiosity when Greengrass and Harry first broke through the ward, and then fear, as Greengrass had fled from the Battle of Menai and broken the ward again.

This time they felt a most virulent form of hate.

A low cackle jerked Hermione out of her reverie. It was Lisa.

"Looks like the Ministry has come out to play," she said gleefully. There was a glint in her eye, a mad sort of a glint, and Hermione knew that the ward had triggered Lisa's madness again. "I told you Hermione, these people would stop at nothing to destroy us. The only way to beat them is to fight them."

"We should …"

"I'll go deal with him," said Lisa, reaching for her wand. They knew intuitively that it was a single wizard. "You go warn those people away from the edge of the wards."

"I don't know if you should go alone," said Hermione. The hate and burning anger this intruder brought worried her, and she didn't want Lisa facing him alone.

"I'll be fine," said Lisa shortly.

She strode off. Hermione sighed. She had the feeling that her conversation with Lisa would be for naught and that her work had been undone by the untimely interruption. Still, she put it out of her mind. She had to go warn those people.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Lord Flint did not know that he had triggered the perimeter ward. The magic on Ynys Mon was foreign to him, but he had felt something trigger, some kind of magic, and he knew the time he had was short.

He stood in to the path in the forest that led out to the Muggle settlements, hunched like a beggar. He was wearing a dirty grey robe, and if anyone from Wizengamot saw him, they wouldn't have recognized him - for he had taken Polyjuice potion and his appearance was completely unlike his own.

It had been a calculated bet that Polyjuice would work on Ynys Mon - the article in the Daily Prophet had been a revelation. The Flints might not have had a whole lot of Celtic Magic in their family, but they sure had a lot sacrificial magic. The polyjuice potion - requiring a sacrifice of a body part, was sacrificial enough that Lord Flint had bet it would work on Ynys Mon - and he was right.

He shuffled along the path, hoping that the woman he was hoping for would show up soon. She usually showed up at this time and passed some money to the beggar she called Gerald. Today, though, Gerald was stunned and bound in a bush not far from there, and today, Lord Flint looked like Gerald.

Just as he was about to give up and apparate away. she showed up. He breathed a sigh of relief and immediately went into disguise.

"Good Morning, Miss," he wheezed.

"Good morning, Gerald," she said in a sing-song voice. In her arms was a child - his son's bastard son. A filthy halfblood, but nevertheless, his grandson. "Here you go."

She handed him a five pound note, just as Flint had seen her hand the real Gerald money for the past several dys.

"Bless ya, Miss," he said with a cough. "And bless yer son too."

He reached forward to pat the child, and with a flick of the wrist that was remarkably agile for an aged beggar, there was a knife in his hand. The woman didn't even have time to react and the knife was deep in her stomach, twisting as Flint sought to cause the maximum amount of pain he could.

She screamed.

He could've cast a silencing charm, or brought a silencing ward, but he wanted to hear her scream - he wanted to know that she had felt the pain she had caused him by robbing his son of magic, by ending his line. He pulled the knife out and stabbed her again, and then a third time.

There were footsteps in the distance and he knew he had to move fast. Plucking his grandson from the woman's arms, he let her fall into a heap on the forest floor. The child, suddenly conscious of his mothers distress and the strange man who was taking her from him, let out a loud wail.

There was a rustling in the forest and he knew Ynys Mon must be preparing her response. He pulled out a vial filled with blood red potion, and tossed it in the direction he thought he heard the noise was coming from.

Then he turned and ran.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Lisa was almost at the point of where the perimeter ward had been tripped, when she heard it. It was the sound of glass shattering, and then she felt extreme heat as the world burst into flame around her. In the distance, she was dimly aware of a baby crying. One last thought crossed her mind before everything went black -

"Fiendfyre."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Before Harry saw anything, his magic told him that something was amiss. The ambient magic of Ynys Mon felt pained, as if something was burning it. He jogged towards the source, and in the distance, he saw smoke and flames.

This was it, he told himself. The distraction he had been waiting for. He spared only a cursory glance at the flames, and his conscience only prickled for an instance. He should go and help, a small part of his brain told him, but it was quickly overruled by the part that reminded him that the narrow window afforded by the distraction was Ginny's only real chance of escape - the only one she would have in a long time.

She was held in a small, heavily warded cottage outside of the forest. Hermione had "accidentally" mentioned that to him, but she had refused to say anything else, other than repeated entreaties that he be careful. It didn't take long for him to track down which cottage it was - it was the only one he had found on the island with such heavy wards on it.

It loomed ahead of him and he felt the effects of the wards on his magic. He felt a sense of unease, as if he shouldn't be there, but he soldiered on. The sense of unease grew, and he stopped right before it got unbearable. Panting, he dropped to the ground. Pulling out a knife, he drew it over his palm, letting several drops of blood fall to the ground. The magic of the island reacted, reaching to him, reaching to his own magical core. It brushed against the wound the island had created against in his core, and entered.

He rose, slowly. Buzzing with the strength of the island, he took a step forward, raised his wand and unleashed the magic he held.

BOOM!

He ducked. There was a deafening explosion as he felt the wards collapse away, overpowered by the strength of the magic. The sense of unease left, and when nothing untoward happened, he got up and cautiously moved towards the cottage.

The door opened, and a familiar redhead poked her head outside.

"Harry?" she asked, startled to see him. "What happened? What was that explosion? And why are you here?"

"There's no time," he said, rushing towards her. "Hurry."

He held out a portkey, a small stone Hermione had given him for emergencies that would take him to the cave they had met Sirius in, back in Fourth Year. He took her hand so that the stone was touching both of them, and then with a whispered password, they disappeared from Ynys Mon.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Some action, finally! We're now beginning to angle towards the end game. Let me know what you think by dropping a review!


	20. Set's Shortcut

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 20:** Set's Shortcut

They appeared with a pop in a shaded alley somewhere in Muggle London. Harry fell to the ground in a heap, and Ginny only barely remained standing. She was looking around unsteadily, squinting at the bright sun outside.

"Where are we?" she asked.

She looked healthy, if a little pale. The Muggleborns had definitely been feeding her well, although her freckled skin looked pasty for want of sun. Harry got to his feet and peered out of the alley. He recognized the intersection across from them -

"I think we're close to Diagon Alley," he said.

Ginny brightened considerably.

"London then," she said, with a grin. "I can apparate home from here; won't Mum be surprised? Thanks for the rescue, Harry! Just like old times, eh?"

Perhaps she noticed the indecision on his face, for she didn't apparate away immediately.

"Do you have a place to go?" she asked.

"Of course," said Harry quickly. She raised an eyebrow at him, disbelief written across her face, and then shrugged.

"Okay then," she said, and disapparated with a pop.

There was a coldness to her demeanour - she had never really warmed up to him since their romance in his Sixth Year had fizzled out. The truth was - Harry didn't have anywhere to go to besides the Burrow, and he didn't want to intrude on the Weasleys' reunion with their daughter. He could go home, he supposed, but he needed to get in touch with Malfoy. Daphne was out of the question, because like Malfoy she would be at the Ministry.

There was one more person he could go to though, someone he had contacted recently - with a pop he disapparated to Longbottom Manor.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Neville was extremely helpful. He didn't look very comfortable at the idea of contacting Malfoy for Harry - Malfoy had bullied Neville in their schooldays and Neville had never forgotten that - but luckily Tracey Davis was visiting him and she was more than happy to use that as an excuse to get out of Harry's presence.

Ten minutes later, while Harry was recounting his experiences on Ynys Mon to Neville, the fireplace flared and Tracey's head poked out.

"I'm in Draco's office," she said. "He's asking if he can come through."

Neville turned an interesting shade of purple, so Harry cut in, "I can meet him at the Leaky Cauldron. Tell him I'll be wearing a glamour."

Tracey's head shrugged and disappeared.

"Thanks Harry," said Neville with palpable relief. "I like Tracey and everything, but I don't think I could ever host him at Longbottom Manor."

"I don't blame you," said Harry, looking grim. "You have no idea how uncomfortable this is making me."

"Let me come with you," said Neville. "I'd rather be nearby in case Malfoy tries to pull something."

Harry accepted gratefully and, casting a quick glamour on himself, he and Neville apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom the barman greeted Neville with a smile and showed them to a booth. They only had to wait a few minutes for Malfoy to show up.

He entered the Leaky Cauldron with another wizard in tow - who Harry thought might be an assistant. Malfoy wearing his office robes and his bearing was even more imperial than Lucius Malfoy's had been at his prime. More than one wizard tipped his hat at him as he surveyed the pub, and Dedalus Diggle even ran up to him and almost shook his hand off. Unlike Lucius Malfoy, who would have ignored Diggle and been on his way, Draco politely exchanged pleasantries with the man before extracting himself away from his excitable company. Already, Harry recognized in Malfoy the signs of a consummate politician.

"Longbottom," said Malfoy, as he walked up to them. He cast a few privacy charms, and then continued, "And Potter, I presume?"

Harry dropped his glamour for the briefest fraction of a second in acknowledgment.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, sparing a glance at the mousy looking man behind Malfoy. He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses and clutching a notebook and … was that a muggle ballpoint? Was Malfoy employing Muggleborns or Halfbloods?

"John Hammond," said the man, holding out his hand. "Reporter for the Daily Prophet. Pleasure to make your acquaintances, Mr Potter and Mr Longbottom."

"Why'd you bring a reporter?" asked Neville sharply. His wand was in plain view, Harry noticed.

An irritated look flashed over Malfoy's face for the briefest moment before he smoothed it over.

"Mr Hammond here will be writing a story for the Prophet about your daring rescue of Ginny Weasley," said Malfoy. "After we are done here, we will head over to the Weasleys for Ms Weasley's side of the story, and then Mr Hammond will show the first draft of his story to the Minister and ask him for a last-minute quote. The Minister will have no choice but to use the story to portray himself in a positive light - Merlin knows he needs it - and by the time tomorrow morning's Prophet is delivered, you will be a hero again, Mr Potter. I trust that will fulfill my side of the bargain?"

It was an ingenious plan, Harry had to admit. Had it come from anyone but Malfoy, Harry would have no trouble accepting it, but seven years of conditioning had made it incredibly hard for him to trust Malfoy. He saw similar looks of distrust and confusion on Neville's face, but he knew he had no choice. This was the only shot he had of getting the charges against him dropped. Quietly, he motioned for them to sit down and began his story.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The next day, Daphne Greengrass sat in her office, facing her former partner, a man she had thought she would never again see in the hallways of the Ministry. Emotions raced through her - surprise, amazement, happiness. She had had a day to process it all, but even so, she felt overwhelmed.

Reports from Ynys Mon said that Lisa Turpin was dead - killed by fiendfyre. Ginny Weasley had been rescued by Harry Potter, and the Minster was telling anyone who would listen to him that his "interview" with the Daily Prophet had been what had allowed the Muggleborns to trust Harry enough to let him close enough to rescue Ginny Weasley, and he congratulated himself on a job well done. The Wizarding Public, always eager to hop on the latest narrative, lapped it all up. Harry Potter was a hero again, and all charges against him were dropped.

The icing on the cake had been an interview published in that morning's Prophet. Daphne's brother-in-law had come calling to the Burrow with a reporter in tow to collect on his debt, and Ron Weasley had delivered - declaring Draco Malfoy instrumental in saving his sister. A picture of Arthur Weasley shaking Draco's hand was splashed across front page of the Daily Prophet. A feud going back several generations had been resolved, and Draco's standing in the Wizengamot had improved considerably. He was already being lauded a potential compromise leader for the Liberals and the Traditionalists.

The politics of it all, however, did not concern Daphne. What concerned her was the demise of Lisa Turpin, and that was why she had sent Harry a missive, asking him to come into the department as soon as possible.

"Are you sure you had nothing to do with it?" she frowned. "And you didn't see anything?"

Harry shrugged. "There was a timely distraction and I used it. I don't know anything, Daphne."

She believed him; she had no reason not to.

"We could go on the island and investigate," she mused. "But I imagine the council won't be keen on that."

"Unlikely," said Harry in agreement.

"What concerns me more," she continued, "is how Ynys Mon will respond - and they certainly will respond. My spies tell me that Ynys Mon is in deep mourning. Turpin's death is regarded as a national tragedy, the Council is in turmoil, and Granger's support is shrinking dramatically because Weasley's escape is blamed on you, and by extension, on her."

Harry winced slightly, looking pained. He had done what he thought was right, but he had still still left his best friend in an incredibly awkward position.

"Which means, Finch-Fletchley's faction is gaining strength, and you say they're the more violent and extremist faction?" she asked.

"Yes," nodded Harry.

Daphne sighed. She knew it was coming, and she felt powerless to defend against it. She couldn't engage in a preemptive strike because her forces were impotent on Ynys Mon. She could only defend, and to be perpetually on the defense was like waiting for defeat. Ynys Mon could destroy their forces with a thousand paper cuts.

"Have you given thought to whether you want to rejoin the force?" she asked quietly. "We could use you."

She could use him not just for the morale boost that having Harry Potter on the force would bring, she thought. He was trustworthy and competent, and more importantly, powerful. If he could bring down the wards that held Ginny Weasley, what else could he do?

Harry hesitated.

"I was thinking about joining the Wizengamot," he said quietly. "I want to change the system from within. There's a lot of prejudice against Muggleborns in this society, and without it, maybe Ynys Mon wouldn't have happened. And maybe, with my name behind the cause, it will help the Muggleborns' cause and make them less inclined to violence."

Daphne hadn't been expecting that.

"This war …"

"I won't raise my wand against Hermione Granger," he cut her off, eyes flashing. He leaned forward, resting his hands on her desk, staring at her intently. "I won't raise my wand against her any more than you would have, against Tracey or Astoria."

"I wouldn't have a problem doing that if my country was at risk," she said slowly. "You have to understand Harry, if Finch-Fletchley takes over, no one will be safe. Hundreds could die in his revenge."

Conflict played across his face. He knew she was right.

"I won't raise my wand against Hermione," he repeated, "but if you need me for something else, I can help."

It was all she could hope for at this point. Silently, she pulled a familiar looking green stone out of her pocket and tossed it at him.

"It's a portkey and the password is, 'Magus'," she said. "Use it when I send my patronus."

He nodded and slipped the portkey into his pocket.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Hermione's head ached. She hadn't slept all night, dealing with the aftermath of the attack. Ynys Mon was in shock. Everyone had expected the Ministry to continue putting diplomatic pressure on Ynys Mon. After their crushing defeat at Menai, the Ministry had no power to project on Ynys Mon - and yet, they had attacked. Not only had they attacked, they had also succeeded in killing a Ynys Mon Councilmember. Lisa's remains hadn't even been recovered when Justin was already telling everyone that he had told them so.

She could only be grateful that the casualties had been low. Six people had died - Lisa, a woman, a child and a beggar in the initial attack, and then two others died fighting the fire. Another half dozen had moderate-to-serious burns. She shuddered to think how many might have died if more people had been in the forest.

All the Council's efforts at fighting the fiendfyre had been useless - they ended up having to cordon off the parts of the forest the fire was raging in, and let it burn itself out. A large chunk of the magical forest surrounding them was gone, and everyone on the island noticed that the ambient magic of the village seemed ever so slightly weaker

She entered the Council's chambers and was greeted by grim faces all around. Deborah Klein was sporting a large burn on her arm and Mrs Khan's grey hair looked distinctly singed. Only Justin had changed before the meeting; everyone else was covered in soot and ash. Hermione could only imagine how she herself looked.

They began the meeting with their ritual. As the power of the island flowed from them to the altar outside, Hermione couldn't keep her eyes off Lisa's empty seat. It was hard to believe she was gone.

The meeting began and the first item on the agenda was, of course, the fire.

"The fire was out as of 5AM this morning," said Hermione by way of her report. "We've lost about 15% of the forest cover surrounding the village, but the wards don't seem to have weakened. A large portion of the forest cover lost was at the eastern edge, and the tree cover between the outside and the clearing is now very narrow."

"Is that a security threat?" frowned Deborah.

"We need to be more careful about going into the forest in general," admitted Hermione. "The wards don't extend beyond the clearing, so the forest itself affords very little protection. I don't believe the Ministry has a way of breaking through our wards."

Justin slammed a fist on the table. "And yet," he drawled, "they have found a way to break through the wards that held Ginny Weasley. Have you found Potter yet, Hermione?"

Hermione winced. What horrible timing Harry had chosen to break Ginny out!

"I have not," she admitted. "I haven't had time to search properly …"

"But we have," interrupted Justin. "Joe was kind enough to lead a quick search across the island, and Harry Potter is nowhere to be found."

"His week was almost up," said Hermione. "Maybe he left already?"

"Without saying goodbye to you?" asked Justin. "I highly doubt that. What happened was that Potter set off Fiendfyre in the forest, used the distraction to rescue Ginny Weasley, and will now buy his innocence from the Ministry using that."

And as proof, he slammed in front of her that morning's Daily Prophet. The headline screamed how Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had banded together to rescue Ginny Weasley from the rebels at Ynys Mon. Hermione's heart sank.

"I warned you about him," said Justin coldly. "I warned you that he was a Ministry spy"

Hermione skimmed through the article.

"Hang on," she said. "This doesn't even mention the fiendfyre …. He says he saw fire in a distance and used that as a distraction …"

"Oh tosh," said Justin with a snort. "He probably didn't want to be responsible for whoever died in that fire, but where else would it come from, Hermione? Face it; your precious Potter betrayed you and is now buddy-buddy with the Weasleys - who, by the way, led the attack on us - and with Malfoy, of all people. Malfoy, Hermione. Do I need to remind you? 'You'll be next, Mudbloods!' That Malfoy"

There were hushed mutterings in the Council, as the paper was passed around. Hermione could see her political clout fading as Justin smirked at her, and she wondered if she had done the right thing. Freeing Ginny was undoubtedly the right thing to do, but if Justin wrested control from her, the damage he could do would be far far worse ….

As if on cue, Justin cleared his throat.

"Hermione, you've demonstrated less than sound judgement in your stewardship of this Council. Because of you - yes, you - six of our citizens are dead, and another six are seriously injured. As such, I'm obliged to call a vote of no-confidence in your leadership of the Council."

It took her a few seconds to process what Justin had said. She knew it was coming, but surely it was too soon for him to move on her? With Lisa gone, the vote would split 3-3 and he wouldn't win. She surveyed the room. Deborah Klein and Joe Smith must have known it was coming; they didn't look surprised at all. Mrs Khan was gaping at Justin, and George - George looked pensive. She saw him exchanging a look with Justin, and that was the first inkling she had that something was wrong.

"Very well," she said, her throat raspy. "All in favour?"

Justin raised his hand. Joe and Deborah followed, though Deborah shot her a look of apology as she did so. Deborah and Hermione had been acquaintances, and Hermione liked the woman, though they had very differing views politically.

And finally, in a move that made Hermione feel what Christ must have felt at Judas' betrayal, in a move that made her wish she had 30 pieces of silver to hand out, George raised his hand. Slowly wavering, it rose in the air as he fixated his gaze anywhere but at Hermione. Justin's smirk broke out into a full blown smile and the deed was done. Hermione Granger was no longer the Head of the Council of Ynys Mon.

George was a politician, she thought dully. He knew the shifting tides, and he knew where to guide his boat. Above all else, politicians were survivors. Her father had been right; there was no room for good men in politics.

The rest of the meeting followed a script that had been prepared already. Justin was elected the new head of the council, and he declared a state of emergency and dissolved the Council. Fresh elections would be held in a month, he announced, the maximum term of the state of emergency as outlined by the Constitution. Until then, he would be forming a task force to guide Ynys Mon in the upcoming war against the Ministry.

And with that, Hermione was dismissed from the government of the state she had helped create, ousted by a man blinded by the very hate and prejudice her utopia was supposed to be free of. She portkeyed to her cottage and crawled into bed, but sleep eluded her that day. All she could do was toss and turn while the drums of war beat in her ears.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daphne spent the next day or so reading intelligence reports about Ynys Mon. Contrary to what Turpin had claimed earlier, there were plenty of Muggleborns who were willing to talk to the Ministry. Some were disgruntled at Granger's ouster. Others still were scared - the mysterious fiendfyre attack had shook many people who were suddenly less trusting of the island's mysterious magic protecting them, and they were willing to share some small nugget of information here or there in exchange for lenience or immunity, should worst come to worst.

Perhaps none of them thought they were individually giving the Ministry any major information, but when Daphne pulled those many pieces of intelligence together, she was able to form a fairly accurate picture of the inner workings of Ynys Mon. Much of it was thanks to Madam Bones, she reflected. The woman had a strong reputation of fairness, even among the Muggleborns. Many who would have been uncomfortable approaching Daphne were happy to talk to Madam Bones, and the former Head had, in the space of a week or so, built a formidable intelligence network.

It was through this network that Daphne was tracking an important lead.

"Six victims," she said, frowning. Her eyes skimmed the parchment in front of her as Madam Bones sat across from her in her office. "Six victims. We can discard the two that died fighting the fire - that leaves us with four: a beggar called Gerald, Lisa Turpin, a woman called Susan Banks and her baby. Who was the target?"

Madam Bones looked at her oddly.

"Wouldn't it be Turpin?" she asked. "Any number of Purebloods had an agenda against her. The Ministry had stun on sight orders against her and a bounty on her head for the longest time ..."

"Perhaps," admitted Daphne, "but I don't want to assume anything, so let's go through the list. The beggar supposedly sat there every day. If someone attacked him, they wouldn't need to use fiendfyre."

"Maybe the fiendfyre was a distraction," suggested Madam Bones.

"For what though?" asked Daphne. "The only other event of note was Harry rescuing Ginny Weasley, and he swears he had nothing to do with the fire."

Madam Bones had nothing to say to that.

"As far as we know," Daphne continued, "the beggar had no connections, no family, no friends. We don't even think he was magical - he saw some people move into the forest and stationed himself there to be near them and their generosity. All we know about him is that he had been seen there for several weeks before the fire. So that rules out the beggar, and leaves the woman and child. Do we have any information about them yet?"

Madam Bones shuffled through the parchments on Daphne's desk and came up with one.

"Sansa Banks," she read. "Muggleborn, age 20 - a few years younger than yourself. The child was called Elliot Banks. They emigrated to Ynys Mon over a year ago, and she had the child on the island."

"Who's the child's father?" asked Daphne, leaning forward.

Madam Bones skimmed through the rest of the parchment. "It doesn't say," she admitted. "There is a reference to her making charges of rape against a Pureblood, but the Muggleborn we got this information from didn't know who it was."

Something stirred in Daphne's memory. Hadn't she heard of something like this recently? She frowned, trying to remember, when all of a sudden, a blaring alarm went off and a red light started flashing.

Madam Bones turned a pasty white and an Auror rushed into Daphne's office unannounced.

"Beggin' your pardon, Madam Greengrass," he began.

"Out with it," snapped Daphne.

The man gulped.

"Hogsmeade, Ma'am. 12 of them, at least."

"I want Team Alpha out there immediately and Beta on standby," she ordered. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

He almost tripped over his feet in his haste to get out of there. Daphne sighed as she exchanged a glance with Madam Bones. It was time to see if all their effort, all their planning had been worth it.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Harry knocked hesitantly on the front door of the Burrow. There was some shuffling inside and he thought he heard Mrs Weasley's voice shouting followed by footsteps. The aged red door swung open and Mrs Weasley stood on the other side.

"Oh Harry!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you so much for saving Ginny!"

Harry returned the hug, patting the Weasley matron's back awkwardly. She had sent him a very insistent invitation to dinner, one that he couldn't possibly refuse.

"Er..."

"Come in, come in dear," she said, ushering him inside. The whole Weasley clan was assembled to greet him. Ginny gave him a hug and a light peck on the cheek, Mr Weasley shook his hand warmly, Bill gave him a half salute, and Charlie thumped his back. Fred and George each grabbed one of his hands and nearly shook them off. Laughing, he pulled away from them, only to come face to face with Ron.

The tall redhead studied him for a moment, and then his face broke out into a wide smile.

"Welcome home, mate," he said with a grin.

"Thanks Ron," Harry said feeling relieved. Ron put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him towards the dinner table, where Mrs Weasley had laid out butterbeer, shepherd's pie, treacle tart - all of Harry's favourite dishes.

"Mrs Weasley," he said, overwhelmed, "This is too much!"

"Not at all, Harry dear," she said, pulling out a chair for him. "This family owes you so much; this is the second time you've saved just Ginny's life! Why, I shudder to imagine what those horrible Muggleborns must have been planning for her ... look at what they did to that poor Flint boy!"

A scarce half decade ago, Harry could never have imagined the words, "Poor Flint boy," coming out of Mrs Weasley's mouth.

"So how'd you do it, Harry?" asked Fred, his hand reaching for the treacle tart as Mrs Weasley shot him a disapproving glare. "Ginny says the wards were something fierce."

"Oh, erm, I figured out a way to channel the island's magic into them until they were overpowered," he said with a shrug.

"Wait," Bill said, looking at him in alarm, "you overpowered the wards? Did you know anything about them? You could've caused an explosion!"

The clatter of the kitchen table suddenly became quieter as everyone paused to look at Harry.

"I knew it wouldn't," he said, feeling uncomfortable.

"You just knew?" repeated Bill in disbelief.

Harry avoided his gaze. "It's hard to describe," he said. "Celtic magic - it's more alive than Roman magic. With Roman magic, you tell it what to do. With Celtic magic, it's a conversation, or rather, a transaction - a transaction with a living creature. You give something and you get something in return."

"The sacrifices," murmured Mr Weasley in understanding. "There are some Eastern magics that are like that."

Bill didn't look terribly convinced but he dropped the subject.

"In any case, we're glad to have Ginny back," said Mrs Weasley. She put another helping of shepherd's pie in Harry's plate, ignoring his protests. "Although I wish Arthur would upgrade the wards on the Burrow."

"In case they come for Ginny," added Charlie by way of explanation for Harry. "Turpin might be gone, but who knows who else they have lined up. We were trying to convince Mom and Dad to put up the Fidelius ..."

Mrs Weasley harrumphed. "What good is the Fidelius?" she asked. "We can't keep Ginny caged up here ... It's also not an easy charm to cast and hiring a professional is expensive."

"They're also able to defeat traditional wards very easily," said Harry, prodding his extremely full plate. "The Notts had some pretty strong wards and Turpin just sliced through them."

Bill looked up in interest. "Sliced, you say?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "There was a tear in the wards. She just slipped in and out."

"I've seen something like that before," he said, frowning in thought. "You see most kind of wards in Egypt. You use a runic array anchored to a stone, which then acts as a portal from the outside of the wards to the inside. It looks very much like this tear that you're describing. It's very clumsy though, and it needs blood to activate. A decent amount of blood."

"Could you show me how to do it?" Harry asked.

Bill shook his head. "It depends on the setup of the wards. It's typically used only by wardmasters and only as a last resort. You need a pretty good grasp of Runes too, and with the blood price, it's usually not worth it."

"What is it called though?" persisted Harry.

"It's most commonly known Set's Shortcut," answered Bill. "You'll also hear often that there are no shortcuts in ward-breaking." He gave Harry a meaningful look and Harry had the grace to blush and change the subject.

Dinner continued with conversation ebbing and flowing. Harry felt much more at home at the Burrow than he had since he'd returned from the Continent. Harry was only able to finish half his plate and Mrs Weasley had finally stopped insisting he eat more, when pearly white creature floated into the dining area. It was a patronus.

"Ynys Mon is attacking Hogsmeade," came Daphne's voice from the creature. "Sorry Harry, I wouldn't call if we didn't need you, but they're using Muggle weapons. Help."

Pandemonium broke loose.

"Muggle weapons?" repeated Mrs Weasley in horror. "Can't Muggle weapons destroy a whole city in the blink of an eye?"

"Even You-Know-Who didn't use Muggle weapons," said Mr Weasley, wearing a worried expression on his face. "There's a reason we've fought so hard to keep them out of our world."

Harry shuddered. While he doubted that Justin had procured the nuclear weapons Mrs Weasley was alluding to, there was still an incredible danger. You knew a Muggle technology was bad when Arthur Weasley advocated you stay away from it.

"I have to go," said Harry.

Ron got up. "I'll come with you," he said. "You'll need help."

Harry hesitated. "Sure. Thanks Ron."

He pulled out Daphne's stone and grabbed Ron's shoulder. "Magus," he whispered, and a familiar tug at his navel pulled him away.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Leave a review and tell me what you think!


	21. The Battle of Hogsmeade

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 21**: Battle of Hogsmeade

Daphne's portkey took Harry and Ron straight to the briefing room in the DMLE. Daphne and Madam Bones were engaged in heated discussions with a group of Aurors Harry scarcely recognized.

"Oh good, you're here, Potter," said Daphne, noticing his arrival. She frowned when she saw Ron. "Why is Weasley here?"

Ron didn't look particularly happy to be there either, so Harry quickly interjected, "He wanted to help."

Daphne studied them for a moment. "Very well then," she said at last, motioning them to join the briefing. "Make sure you obey orders, Weasley."

Ron gave her a stiff nod.

"These are some of the more senior Halfblood and Muggleborn Aurors on the force," said Daphne, sweeping her hand across the room. "We have some well defined plans in place to defend Hogsmeade, but we never accounted for them using Muggle weapons so we're having to improvise. Madam Bones, if you will?"

Madam Bones stepped forward.

"There are about a dozen rebels loose in Hogsmeade," she said. "They're using a combination of Roman magic and Muggle weapons and seem to be there to generally cause mayhem. Team Alpha is stationed to do damage control, and we're floo calling Hogsmeade residents to evacuate them to the Ministry.

"We lost three members of Team Alpha before we realized they were using Muggle weapons. Six civilians have lost their lives. Since then, Team Alpha has been ordered to not directly engage any rebels and are focusing on saving lives first, and property if possible."

"They're not using any Celtic Magic?" asked Ron.

"We don't believe Celtic Magic has any significant offensive capabilities," answered Daphne in a clipped voice. "They may be using some to penetrate through wards and the like, but that's about it."

"What Muggle weapons are they using?" Harry asked.

"Guns, Sir." It was one of the Muggleborn Aurors that Harry recognized who spoke up. His name was McCullum, and he was a ruddy-haired Irish immigrant who had served the Department for about as long as Madam Bones had. "They're carrying guns and hand grenades. We didn't see them using guns except to attack people who fought back. In general they are just destroying property; we believe this is a retribution attack for the fiendfyre in their forest."

"And spellwork?"

"Largely Bombarda, Reducto, and other explosion hexes," answered McCullum. "They're maximizing the amount of damage caused."

"The goal is for this group to develop a plan to repel the rebels and relieve Team Alpha," said Daphne. "We've already lost an estimated 10% of Hogsmeade, so we have to move fast. Thoughts, Potter?"

Harry tapped his foot for a moment, thinking.

"Are they largely staying to the streets, or going inside houses to loot?"

"Streets," confirmed Daphne.

"Any chance of civilians getting caught in the crossfire? Are we authorized to use lethal force?"

"Minimal. The evacuation was preplanned and has been effective so far. Unfortunately, the Wizengamot's lethal force authorization only extended to Turpin. Draco's negotiating that at the Wizengamot right now, but we don't have it yet."

Harry frowned. "How many of you can fly a broom?" he asked. Most of the room raised their hand. "I mean fly a broom really well." Several hands dropped. "All right, here's the plan ..."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

They had paired up, one flier and one man on the ground in each pair. The idea was to take out the rebels as suddenly and simultaneously as possible, without giving them a cause for alarm. Fires raged in Hogsmeade as Harry crept around the smoking hulk that was once Gladrag's Wizarding Wear. The rebels had attacked the business district first, tearing it to the ground.

"Bombarda!"

He saw his target up front, tearing a hole in the front of Zonko's jokeshop. Part of Harry burned inside to see these locations - staples of his Hogwarts years - being torn down with the same reckless abandon and love for destruction that Voldemort's followers had had. Replace the Muggleborn casting the Bombardment Hex with a Pureblood in a mask and black robes, and you wouldn't know them from a Death-Eater.

"Oy," said Harry, stepping out in the street. He had a glamour on, not wanting to give away his identity.

The man turned around and faced him with a sneer. He was young, barely 20 or so. Harry tried to place his face, but couldn't. He hadn't associated much with the younger years at Hogwarts.

The man slowly pulled something out of his robes, and Harry didn't wait to see what it was.

"Protego Solidum!" he threw up a solid shield just as the hail of bullets came, peppering against it. He grit his teeth as the shield drew on his magic - it was an incredibly tiring spell that wasn't used often, but the trouble with bullets was that they were so fast, you couldn't use the standard transfiguration-based defense you used against the Unforgivables. This really was the only option. He hoped Ron was about to come through soon ...

All of a sudden, Harry heard a clang. The firing stopped. He dropped his shield and drove behind a broken wall. Peering cautiously over it, he saw the man was still standing. In the air, he could barely make out a disillusioned Ron flying overhead. Another red spell fired down from above, and as it neared the man, there was a loud clang as it fizzled out. There was an invisible shield around him, just as there had been around Richardson - the Muggleborn Auror Daphne had confronted as he was defecting to Ynys Mon.

The man started raising his gun in the air ... Ron had absolutely no protection ...

"Sonorus," muttered Harry. "RETREAT! RETREAT!" He heard several pops as the men flying overhead apparated away.

Now he knew why they were walking about Hogsmeade so casually. They were wearing some kind of immunity amulets. Richardson had a green stone of some kind, he wondered if he could summon it?

"Accio Stone," he muttered, pointing his wand at the man. Another clang - and it had the downside of making the rebel aware that he still had an enemy in the vicinity. He turned to face the general direction Harry was in.

"Bombarda!" he heard again, and a large chunk of the wall he was hiding behind exploded, leaving him very little hiding room - and yet Harry was loathe to apparate away without something to show for it. He stepped out.

There was a popping sound, and something fell near him with a thud. Harry's eyes widened and -

"Protego Solidum!" He was barely able to get the shield up before the grenade exploded. He kept it up for a few more seconds in case there were any more grenades and then dropped it, panting lightly.

He dearly wished he could use the Unforgivables - he bet this mysterious amulet wouldn't hold too well against them. The problem was that he needed some way of physically reaching the rebel without magic - that gave him an idea. When Richardson had knocked himself out in the building, Daphne had been able to touch him to remove the stone from his body. Breathing deeply and thanking his lucky stars that Daphne had put him on a physical training regimen, he peeked over to where the man was standing in the middle of the street.

"Bombarda!"

Harry didn't wait for the spell to reach him. Grabbing a large rock, he disapparated, and reappeared behind the rebel. The man whirled around to face him, but it was too late. With an almighty swing, he struck the man in the head, knocking him unconscious.

"I hope that didn't count as deadly force," he muttered to himself. Pulling out one of the portkeys Daphne had given them, he touched the man and disappeared, taking him to the holding cells in the Ministry.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

"We lost a man retreating," snapped Daphne as he walked in. "I don't think your plan worked, Potter. Why did you call the retreat?"

"Yeah, we were all lined up," growled McCullum, running a hand through his red hair.

"I got my man at least," said Harry grimly, and he told them about he amulets the rebels were carrying. Daphne's face morphed from annoyance, to understanding and finally to pride as he told his tale.

"I see," she said, tapping her chin. "If the fliers had fired at them the way Weasley did, they would be sitting ducks in the air. All the rebels would have to do is point in the air and use these 'guns' - and we would have dropped out of the air like birds."

"Yes," said Harry. He picked a quill off the desk and transfigured it into a cricket bat. "I'm going back in there. Who's with me?"

McCullum let out a guffaw. "I like how you think, Potter," he said with a grin. "I used to open for the Irish Under-19's, you know? Pity I haven't worked with you before this; but maybe there's time still."

"Er, is that a Muggle weapon?" asked Ron. Daphne looked equally confused as everyone else in the room exchanged grins.

"You could say that," said McCullum transfiguring his own bat and tapping Ron lightly to demonstrate how heavy it was. "Let's go lads, pretend they're asking yer daughters out!"

"Everyone to his marked man," said Harry. "Fliers, leave your brooms and distract them from the ground. Use the cover around you and be liberal with those solid protego's. Everyone else, apparate close to them and hit hard."

"I want you in the air, Potter," said Daphne suddenly. "You too, Weasley, since you both have your man. If you see anything amiss, call the retreat. Wizard blood is precious, buildings and properties are not."

Harry nodded, and swapped his cricket bat for a broom from another auror. With a series of pops, the team disapparated again.

He and Ron could see from the air as the men approached their targets. They had to apparate some distance away so that the rebels wouldn't hear their apparation pops, and then slowly make their way to the sounds of explosions. Zonko's joke shop was gone now, Harry saw. Someone else must have finished it off. From the air, it seemed like a quarter of Hogsmeade was in ruins.

One by one, each pair of Aurors engaged their targets. The first pair failed. Their distraction worked well, but when the other Auror apparated to his target, he hit him with the bat so lightly that the target barely stumbled. Before he could get another swing in, his body was riddled with bullets. His partner wisely decided to disapparate instead of pushing his luck.

McCullum was the next one to engage. His partner wasn't very good at hiding - Harry thought he got shot, but he seemed to keep going - but he did succeed in distracting their target well enough that McCullum was able to get behind him. With a swing of the cricket bat, the man was knocked out cold.

Another pair engaged after them and was successful - Harry was distracted by McCullum and didn't see how they did it, though.

A small wave of magic went through Harry, so light that he barely noticed it. Was it a signal of some sort? The rebels had stopped in their tracks.

"Should we sound the retreat?" asked Ron worriedly.

Harry waited for a few moments. The rebels remained stationary.

"Yeah," he said. "We'll watch."

Ron cast a Sonorus on himself and sounded the retreat. The Aurors blinked out from the cityscape under them. And then the rebels started disapparating too. One, two, three, they all popped out, until one man stood in the center of the city. He had his wand out.

Harry cast out the feelers of his leglimency and gasped.

"Stupefy!"

The spell clanged against him, fizzing away uselessly.

"Reducto! Bombarda!" Harry tried again. The earth blew up next to the man, putting him off-balance, but he recovered correctly and finished his incantation. A giant fiery dragon flew out of his wand, attacking the nearest house.

Fiendfyre. Ynys Mon had its revenge.

Harry could barely make out the smirk on the man's face as he looked up and sprayed a few bullets in the air that missed Harry and Ron by a wide margin but forced them higher in the air still, and then disapparated with a pop.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

One of the downsides of Daphne's promotion was that she spent entirely too much time standing in front of the Wizengamot and not nearly enough time actually doing her job. She was beginning to understand the frustrations Madam Bones had had while Daphne was working under her.

The Wizengamot had summoned her to "answer for" the attack on Hogsmeade. The old farts didn't understand, Daphne thought, that her office had pulled off a minor miracle in that only ten lives had been lost. The casualties could easily have numbered in the hundreds.

Amos Diggory, the Chief Warlock, was leading the questioning, with the various Lords interjecting as their senses of self-importance demanded.

"Please describe the extent of the damage," said Diggory.

"Twelve lives were lost," answered Daphne, reading off a piece of parchment. She had anticipated the question. "Six civilians and as many Aurors. Thirty civilians and ten Aurors received minor to moderate injuries. The damage to property is worth 20,000 galleons at least. Much of the Hogsmeade commercial district was destroyed in the initial attack and the subsequent fiendfyre."

"And you believe this is in response to the attack on Ynys Mon?" asked Diggory. "The Fiendfyre attack?"

"Yes."

"Tell us, Madam Greengrass," said Lord Montague, a Traditional Lord whose son Daphne had been in Slytherin with, "why didn't your department anticipate this attack and do more to prevent it? Surely you expected something after your stunt in rescuing they Weasley girl."

Daphne grit her teeth. She could almost feel her blood pressure rise.

"Does Lord Montague know what the population of Hogsmeade is?" asked Daphne coolly. Montague looked taken aback. He hadn't expected to be asked a question in response.

"... surely several hundred," he began.

"It's actually around five thousand," said Daphne, affixing him with an icy stare.

There was a time where she would never have dreamed of showing such insubordination to a Wizengamot Lord, but Madam Bones had drilled into her head that as the Head of a Ministry Department, she was much closer in stature to a Wizengamot Lord than she had been as a regular citizen. With politicians, she had said, you need to sometimes intimidate them into backing down, or they would keep taking more and more liberties.

"I don't think I need to impress on you then," she continued, "that coming out of an attack against a terrorist group using unidentified magics and muggle weapons is an incredible feat with only twelve casualties. My department worked around the clock to put the contingency plans in place that yesterday saved hundreds of lives, and their efforts should not be trivialized."

Montague opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. A few members of the Wizengamot were looking at Daphne in awe. Amos Diggory was not one of them.

"Watch your tone when speaking to the Lords, Madam Greengrass," he growled. "You'll remember that we appointed you to your role."

Daphne bit back a comment on how they were welcome to go fight this war on their own, if they so chose.

"I apologize, Lord Montague," she said, not sounding sorry at all. Montague ignored her and sat back down.

"Does the DMLE have the means to fight the Muggle weapons?" asked a diminutive Lord whose name Daphne didn't know, but she thought he might be a Liberal. He was sitting in a group of Liberal Lords.

"Unfortunately we do not," answered Daphne. "Wizards have kept Muggle weapons out of their wars since the Statute of Secrecy went up; this is the first major violation in a European country since then, so no Wizarding community is really equipped to deal with it. The DMLE was able to defeat the rebels by utilizing the expertise of Harry Potter."

A small titter went through the Wizengamot at the mention of Harry's name. Daphne felt satisfied. She had intentionally dropped his name in there.

"Defeat, you say?" asked Diggory curiously. "We lost twelve lives and they lost none. That's hardly a defeat."

"Er," she stumbled for a moment, and Draco stepped in to rescue her.

"Madam Greengrass means that she prevented them from achieving their goal of destroying Hogsmeade," he said. "In my mind, that a success."

Diggory shot Draco a nasty look but had the sense to not push it. With Draco's popularity at an all-time high in the Wizarding World, a lot of wizards - Liberal or Traditional - were going out of their way to avoid offending the Malfoy heir.

"The Wizengamot should also remember that the DMLE's hands were tied by their inability to use lethal force," continued Draco. "A fact that I reminded this august body of repeatedly, while those same lives that are suddenly being put on Madam Greengrass's shoulders were being lost. I do recall you being particularly against that, Diggory?"

"Would you say that the authorization to use lethal force would have saved lives, Madam Greengrass?" asked another Lord Daphne didn't recognize.

"Definitely," she answered without hesitation. "At the very least, we would have discovered whether the shields they carry can block the Unforgivables."

"Very well, then," said the same Lord. He then turned to address Draco. "Lord Malfoy, I voted against allowing lethal force last time, but Madam Greengrass's testimony has led me to think otherwise. Perhaps we could call the vote again?"

"I cannot call a vote till the hearing is over," said Diggory. "Are there any further questions for Madam Greengrass?"

There were many - some about the mechanics of the attack, some about the manner of defense.

Lord Boot asked whether Daphne had contingency plans in place for future attacks.

"We have plans in place to defend all major Wizarding Settlements in Great Britain," answered Daphne. She was proud of herself for keeping the hiss out of her voice, but she still couldn't bring herself to look the man who had replaced her father on the Wizengamot in the eye. "Unfortunately we're working against unknown magics and Muggle weapons. This is uncharted territory, and we were lucky in Hogsmeade that the rebels weren't particularly interested in killing people. Had they been, the casualties would have been higher."

"What were they interested in then?" asked Lord Boot.

"In sending a message," answered Daphne. "They want us to know we're not safe."

"Good thing we have you to keep us safe, eh?" said Boot with a guffaw, but Daphne did not smile in return.

There were more questions, and when Diggory made the call for final questions, Montague spoke up again.

"I have one more question," he said in a queer voice. "Fiendfyre is a restricted spell. Why did the DMLE use that spell in rescuing the Weasley girl?"

"The DMLE didn't use that spell," said Daphne. "Fiendfyre was set off by someone else. Potter used that as a distraction to rescue Weasley."

"Very admirable of him," said Montague, not sounding admiring at all. His family were one of the last Pureblood fanatics, those who it was known would have stood behind the Dark Lord till the very end. Madam Bones considered it a personal failure that she wasn't able to bring charges against the Montague family in the aftermath of the war. "But clearly, whoever set off that Fiendfyre sparked off these hostilities in which we find ourselves on the backfoot. Have you made any efforts to discover who it was?"

"We have some leads," said Daphne. "We are actively working on it."

Montague nodded in satisfaction, but Daphne's eyes were drawn to Lord Flint, who had suddenly turned ashen-white. He was gripping his cane tightly, his hand shaking as he did so, and his eyes seemed to be focused on the wall behind Daphne.

Could he? A memory stirred in her head. Marcus Flint had been charged in Ynys Mon by a woman who claimed that he raped her and fathered her child. Could the Fiendfyre have been old Flint's revenge? The woman who was killed, along with her child could have been Marcus's Muggleborn witch and their son.

Why would Flint have killed the child though? Curiosity burned through her as she stared at Lord Flint, and she made up her mind to pay her old classmate Marcus a visit soon.

Amos Diggory called the vote, and this time it had shifted in her favour. The DMLE had been authorized to use lethal force against members of the Ynys Mon community in the defense of Magical Britain.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

News of Hermione's ouster had slowly filtered through Wizarding Britain. People cheered, for it was considered a serious blow struck against Ynys Mon.

"They've finally gotten what's comin' ta 'em," Harry overheard one wizard tell his friend at the Leaky Cauldron. "Now our boys just gotta go clean out the mess, an' that'll be that."

Those a level above the laity, those who had worked with Hermione during the War with the Dark Lord and who had followed her exploits after, celebrated for a different reason.

"They've made a huge mistake," one witch told her friend in Diagon Alley. "There's not many witches smarter than her, and she was to them what Potter is to us. Now that she's gone, Potter'll have them wrapped for the Ministry within a week or two, you'll see."

That timeline sounded incredibly optimistic to Harry, but he felt considerably better about throwing his weight behind Daphne to defend Britain now that he wasn't worried about fighting Hermione. Daphne had shown up at this doorstep when the news first broke and demanded he rejoin the DMLE. He had refused, not wanting an incident similar to the one where he had been arrested, but he agreed to sign on as a wartime consultant.

He was on his way to the Department now, disguised in a glamour that he dropped the moment he walked in.

"Oh good, you're here Potter."

It was McCullum, falling in step besides him.

"What does Greengrass want?" he asked, using Daphne's last name in the professional setting. "Her note was rather cryptic."

McCullum grinned. "Typical of her. Bones was a bit clearer, if you ask me, but Greengrass is pretty effective for a rookie. She wants us to interrogate the prisoners."

They went down to the holding cells where Daphne was waiting for them with another Auror who had a set of vials with him.

"Truth potions," she said when Harry looked at her in askance. "Let's see what these boys know."

The first man they saw was the one Harry had captured. They entered his cell. He was sitting morosely in a corner, wearing prisoners' robes. His black hair was covered in filth and his face was covered in dirt. The smell of human stink was overwhelming.

"Can they not take showers?" asked Harry, wrinkling his nose. The man was looking over them with interest.

Daphne shrugged. "Not in high security. Don't want them using the water as a cover for doing magic to escape."

"Let's get this over with," grunted McCullum, striding forward. He grabbed the man by the throat, forced his jaws open and forced three drops of potion down his throat. Harry was taken aback by McCullum's forcefulness.

Daphne touched his arm lightly. She had noticed his discomfort.

"He's a veteran," she whispered. "Let him be."

The wizard who had been waiting with Daphne turned out to also be their scribe.

"Name?" asked Daphne.

"Tyler Lewis."

"Age and Profession?"

"37, mercenary available for hire."

Harry did a doubletake. "Mercenary?" he mouthed to McCullum, who shrugged.

"What do you know about the Ynys Mon Council?"

Lewis looked at them blankly. "The Ynys What Council?"

"Who engaged you for the Hogsmeade attack?"

"I don't know, I never saw his face," Lewis said with a shrug. "I got half the payment before and a contract that promised half the payment after."

"And you were okay with the attack being on Hogsmeade?" demanded McCullum. "The only Wizarding village in all of Britain? You thought you would succeed?"

"One of two," corrected Lewis. "I'm a Muggleborn too, I've been to Ynys Mon, I've seen the village. I've felt its power. The Ministry is impotent against of Ynys Mon."

"Yet we got you," said Harry.

"A lucky shot," came Lewis's retort.

"Is the potion even working?" asked Daphne suddenly. "Could he have taken an antidote? Check, Potter."

Harry pulled out his wand. "Leglimens!"

He entered Lewis's mind. There was a dullness to his stream of consciousness, that Harry recognized was the effects of the truth potion. He delved deep, looking for his memories of Ynys Mon.

Lewis had first been introduced to Ynys Mon through an acquaintance, while working as a mercenary for one of the Dark Lords on the continent. When that Dark Lord's fortunes turned south, he had emigrated to Ynys Mon, seeking an easier life. He had spent some months there, mingling mostly with a younger, more extremist crowd of Muggleborns, but he had never settled, and wasn't really able to establish himself. When the Ministry officials offered amnesty, he had taken it and moved back to Britain.

A few days ago, a hooded man had shown up, carrying letters of reference from an acquaintance of Lewis's at Ynys Mon, asking if he was up for a job. Lewis had needed the money, so he took the offer.

Harry withdrew from his mind.

"The potion is working," he said. "He is what he says; he has nothing to offer."

Daphne muttered something very unladylike.

"I hope McCullum's man is more useful," she said. "Give him the antidote."

The next prisoner was in an identical cell.

"Oh hello," he said when they walked in. "I suppose this is my interrogation?"

"You got it," said McCullum. "Remember me?"

The man growled. "I remember you. Couldn't forget that ruddy head if I tried. Blimey you got me hard with that bat."

"The truth potion," said Daphne. McCullum stepped forward, forcing the potion down the man's throat.

"Name?" Daphne asked.

"Ed Clark."

"Age and Profession?"

"30, Unemployed."

"What do you know of the Ynys Mon Council?"

"I occasionally do contract work for various members of the Council, Justin Finch-Fletchley in particular," said Clark. The Aurors exchanged a look.

"Do you believe in Finch-Fletchley's ideas?"

"I believe that Muggleborns deserve their own homeland and that we need to fight for it."

"What was your involvement in planning the attack?" Harry took over the questioning.

"None. I was made aware of the plans the day of."

"Are you aware of any other plans to attack Britain?"

"Not in particular, but I do know that more attacks are planned, mostly against population centers."

"Why population centers?" asked Daphne, alarmed.

"Because he wants to cause the maximum amount of chaos. He reckons if he can reduce trust in the Ministry and turn Wizarding Britain to anarchy, he will be able to claim the right to form Government over Britain from the ICW, and swoop in to save Britain from itself."

"Is there any chance he will he make peace with the Ministry?" asked Harry.

"No," answered Clark. There was a firmness in his voice that unsettled Harry. "Justin believes that Wizarding Britain needs to be destroyed so that it can be remade into a more equal society. He will fight until he has achieved that."

Daphne looked a bit green at that. McCullum's face had a hardness in it that made the Auror look a decade older.

"Leglimency, Potter," said Daphne. "See if he's telling the truth."

Harry stepped forward, wand in hand. "Leglimens!"

He quickly sifted through the man's memories before withdrawing from his mind.

"He's telling the truth," he said, on exiting. "Finch-Fletchley's going to keep fighting, mostly just for the sake of fighting."

"We have to fight back then," said Daphne grimly. "We don't have a choice."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The past few days had been a blur for Hermione. The days blended together, and without the duties of the Council Head, she found she suddenly had more free time than she knew what to do with.

She heard whispers of what was going on in the village, but she avoided going in there. Mrs Khan and a few of her other acquaintances had dropped by to catch her up, and Hermione herself stayed in either her cottage or on the Muggle parts of the island. It was terribly lonely.

Someone knocked on the door, and Hermione drew herself up from her couch, glad that she had showered in the morning. Maybe it was Mrs Khan again, she mused.

She walked to the door, opened it, and froze. Standing on her porch wasn't Mrs Khan, but George Martin.

"You," she said. He looked guilty and averted his gaze. "Why are you here?"

"May I come in?" he asked hesitantly. She was tempted to slam the door in his face. Honestly, she didn't know why she didn't. Instead she stood aside and let him come in. He sat down on her couch unasked - he probably knew she wouldn't have invited him to sit. She didn't offer him tea either.

"Explain," she demanded.

"I know you're mad at me," he began, "and you think I betrayed you, but Hermione, I had to!"

"Had to?" her voice rising. "If you hadn't, George, he wouldn't have been able to dissolve the Council! This Hogsmeade fiasco wouldn't have happened! Ynys Mon is in shambles, and its on your head."

"No!" he said forcefully. "You don't understand Hermione, Justin's following - they're becoming more and more of a cult. There was ... there was ..." he took a deep breath, "they were talking about a coup."

Hermione gasped. "A coup?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "No one ever said anything to me directly, but you know I have my network, and talk filtered through eventually. The idea was brought up that if it could be arranged for you or me or Mrs Khan to have an accident, or become otherwise incapable of serving, they could elect one of their people to the Council and take an effective majority.

Hermione's mind raced. So it had been planned. Everything had been in place, with only the final stroke needed, and the Fiendfyre had only provided Justin with the excuse he needed - but if it hadn't ...

"Do you have any proof?" she demanded. "We could bring it to the people, oust Justin ..."

"Hermione, didn't you hear me?" he said, impatience leaking into his voice. "His following is becoming a cult. People respect you - or they did before this Potter fiasco, but you don't have that same kind of following. When I voted against you, I spared you from it..."

"That wasn't your decision to make," Hermione hissed.

His head bowed. "It wasn't," he said, "and I'm sorry. I did what I thought was best."

"You were wrong," she snapped, getting up, intending to show him the door, but he spoke again.

"There is one more thing," he said. His voice trembled. "They have ... they have a number of attacks planned, and one of them is extremely disturbing, and that's why I'm here. I ... I wanted to let you know."

He was visibly shaking now. She stared at him with a morbid fascination, waiting for him to finish.

"September 1st is around the corner," he said softly. Horror struck Hermione's heart as she saw what he was angling towards. "They thought they might get the future of the Purebloods in one fell swoop. Wipe out all the scions. Destroy a generation. Magical Britain would never recover."

"He wouldn't," whispered Hermione.

"I ... I thought," ventured George, looking at her with wide eyes, "that you might still have contact with Potter. That maybe you could warn him, letting him know. I want Ynys Mon to win, but I don't want children to die, Hermione."

He looked at her, pleading with his eyes. Her mind was reeling, from the shock that Justin would even contemplate the possibility. But then again, no one had thought he would contemplate using Muggle weapons to attack Hogsmeade, and where he had even acquired them from, she didn't know.

She imagined herself and Harry and Ron on the Hogwarts Express as it crossed one of the many valleys on its route, atop a wooden bridge, and the bridge blowing up, and the Hogwarts Express plummeting to the depths, taking them all with it ... she shook herself out of her reverie. She knew what she had to do. She didn't have a choice.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Leave a review and tell me what you think! What will Hermione do?


	22. Difficult Decisions

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 22:** Difficult Decisions

On some level, Daphne felt she didn't need to pursue the lead she had on Lord Flint. Finch-Fletchley was going to fight no matter what - and they had to be prepared against the attacks that were inevitable. She had worked with Draco to get a team of Unspeakables working on deconstructing the ritual that Granger had used on the Aurors, as well as researching any offensive magic that might work on Ynys Mon.

"The best defense is a solid offense," said the Auror trainee handbook, and Daphne knew that mounting an offensive was the only way they would win this war. Still, the culprit of the Fiendfyre attack was the only person to have successfully attacked Ynys Mon. Finding them could only be beneficial, even if it only meant finding out how they had succeeded in setting the forest on fire.

So it was that Daphne and Draco found themselves visiting their classmate, Marcus Flint. They went without any Aurors, not wanting to scare Lord Flint off. It was storming that morning, the same way it always seemed to storm in that part of Northern Scotland. They had sent a letter ahead of them, announcing their intention to visit, but had received no response - so they apparated to the gates of the Flint Estate and rang the doorbell.

A diminutive house-elf appeared.

"Who be calling on Master Flint?" it squeaked.

"Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass," said Draco. "We're hear to visit Marcus."

The elf popped away, and then appeared back moments later, carrying an ornate scepter, decorated with bears.

"Please be holding on," it said, holding it out to Daphne and Draco. They each placed a finger on the scepter and felt the house-elf magic pulling them through the wards and depositing them in the reception area.

The reception area was a square hall with a ceiling so high Daphne had to strain her neck to see it. Three walls were bare stone, and the fourth had the seal of House Flint monogrammed on its center. Underneath it was a small doorway. Magic in the room lay heavy on them, oppressive and stifling. Daphne recognized it as magic suppressing wards. The room was built to function as a dungeon, should unwelcome visitors find their way there.

The door creaked open and Lord Flint stepped inside.

"Lord Malfoy. Madam Greengrass."

"Lord Flint," answered Draco as Daphne inclined her head in greeting. "We sent a letter of greeting?"

"Yes," said Lord Flint gruffly. "I didn't respond. And yet, you are here."

He looked at them pointedly and they averted their gazes.

"Come along then," he said, snorting. "You may see Marcus, but don't come again."

Daphne sighed in relief as they left the hall and the effects of the magic suppression ward wore off. Her magic surged forward, soaring in its freedom. They followed Lord Flint through a series of winding hallways, most of them bare stone save for the torches jutting out from them at intervals. Every now and then, they saw an expanse of bare wall with the Flint seal monogrammed on it. The Flints, apparently, didn't believe much in decoration.

Draco engaged Lord Flint in small talk, discussing the inanities of the Wizengamot. The gruff old Lord resisted at first, but when Draco introduced the subject of the Chief Warlock, Flint became much more animated, engaging in brutal verbal attacks against Diggory.

With Flint suitably distracted, Daphne pulled out her wand and cast discrete diagnostic charms as they walked. She saw little of note, though a hominem revealio revealed that there were several individuals in the general direction in which they were headed.

The hallway they were in grew narrower and narrower, until finally they came to a door at the end of it. From the other side, they heard the sound of human voices and … was that a baby crying? Lord Flint gestured for them to enter.

Draco entered first, followed by Daphne.

"Hello Marcus," said Draco. The room they were in was a nursery, with a crib at its center. It was well lit; the grey stone walls shone with a warm brightness that belied the dullness of the rest of the castle. Standing over the crib was a witch Daphne didn't recognize, and sitting on an armchair was next to it was Marcus himself. A low wail was coming from the crib.

"Daphne! Draco!" greeted Marcus, with more emotion that Daphne had heard from him in their three years overlapping at Hogwarts. An expression of disgust that crossed Lord Flint's face when his son spoke. Marcus, too, seemed to notice, and he faltered for a moment.

"Lord Malfoy, Madam Greengrass, this is my grandson," said Lord Flint.

He strode across the room and plucked the baby out of the crib. It was a boy - hardly a year old, maybe eighteen months at most. Black hair framed a face that resembled Marcus' and the eyes that looked at Daphne and Draco seemed to be Lord Flint's own.

"Congratulations, Lord Flint, Marcus," murmured Daphne. "I wasn't aware you had a child, Marcus."

Marcus seemed to wither under the glare his father shot him.

"Marius is the result of one Marcus's … indiscretions," said Lord Flint. "Now that Marcus has no magic, Marius will carry the Flint line forward. A halfblood is better than a squib, I suppose."

Marcus stared at the stone wall behind them. Draco didn't miss a beat.

"Congratulations on finding an heir," he said smoothly. "I hope Marius leads the Flints to even more prosperity. Is this lady Marius's mother?"

"Nurse," grunted Lord Flint. The witch did a curtsey and Draco inclined his head in return.

"What happened to the child's mother?" asked Daphne.

"Dead," answered Marcus dully. He looked downcast, staring at the floor. Lord Flint, Daphne noticed, tensed up. She turned around to fully face him.

"The reports from Ynys Mon said that Sansa Banks's son died with her in the fire. He didn't die, did he? This is him?" she spoke deliberately and carefully, making sure not to imply any threats, but her hand was near her wand.

Flint didn't reply.

"How did you get the Fiendfyre to work on Ynys Mon?" asked Draco.

Flint growled. "Be careful what you're trying to imply, boy. You're still green enough, I can have you thrown out of the Wizengamot for trying to slander an Ancient House."

Daphne knew it was an empty threat - the Flints didn't have nearly enough influence as they used to, and the Malfoy family's strength was growing every passing day - but Draco sidestepped it with grace.

"We both know there's a war going on Lord Flint," said Draco. "We need the information we can get. Madam Greengrass has enough evidence to get a warrant out at least …"

"Turpin was on the Wizengamot's Most Wanted List," shot back Flint.

"But the beggar Gerald was not," said Draco. "Nor was Sansa Banks. That should be enough for the Wizengamot if Madam Greengrass and I both push for it, but it doesn't need to come to that. We need information to fight Ynys Mon, and you're the only one to have successfully attacked Ynys Mon. Anything you have could save many lives. We can turn a blind eye to whatever happened with the Fiendfyre if you help us."

"I don't like being threatened, Lord Malfoy," hissed Flint. His eyes were flashing dangerously. Then he sighed and turned towards the door. "I don't like being threatened," he repeated, "but I hate those Mudbloods much more. Come with me, I'll tell you what I know."

They followed him out. Daphne spared a glance at Marcus and saw him wiping a tear away. It hurt her to see him like that, to see him without the one thing that made a Wizard who he was. He would have a hard time anywhere in the Wizarding World, but doubly so in a family such as the Flints, where magic was the be all and the end all.

Lord Flint took them up to his study. It was as bare as the corridors and hallways of Flint castle, save for the bookshelves that lined the walls. Daphne tensed up. This was where the Flint family grimoires and other family magics were stored.

They sat down as Lord Flint shuffled through his parchment, pulling out various books and referencing them. Every once in a while, he carefully duplicated a page from a book or a roll of parchment and set it on his desk.

"It took me a while to find this," he said at last. "I thought at first that I needed to find Celtic Magic - that that was the only kind of Magic that would work on the island. The article in the Daily Prophet about how the Celts practised sacrificial magic - blood magic in particular - was my breakthrough. The Flints don't know much about Celtic Magic, but we've done a lot of research on sacrificial magic. Have you heard of the term 'Transactional Magic?'"

Daphne looked at Draco and they both shrugged."

We have not," she said.

"Well, you'll hear the term in some Eastern cultures," said Flint. He finished gathering his paperwork and now sat down to face them. "All Magic is transactional to some degree - when you and I cast 'Wingardium Leviosa' we exchange some of the magic in our cores to perform the Levitation Spell. Our cores regenerate the magic so fast, we don't even notice."

"But then why doesn't Wingardium Leviosa work on Ynys Mon?" asked Daphne.

"Because the sacrifice is too small!" declared Flint triumphantly. "This was my great breakthrough. When you cast Wingardium Leviosa on Ynys Mon, it does work - but negligibly. Maybe your feather will rise a hair's breadth, and that's it. The problem is that when you start doing sacrificial magic in a place - and that is what Celtic Magic essentially is - you start putting a whole lot more into the ambient magic that you get out of it, and that results in the magic starting to become sentient, in a way."

"Sentient?" asked Draco with a start. Daphne looked at Lord Flint with interest as well. "The debate on whether Magic is sentient is as old as the Founders at least …"

"How many times have you walked through the hallways of Hogwarts and felt that the castle was alive?" asked Lord Flint. "It's the same with Ynys Mon. Whether the magic is actually alive, I can't tell you. What I can tell you is that if you don't put in a good enough sacrifice, the magic won't work. Ynys Mon is a land that is used to sacrifices of blood, magic and life. Petty wandwork doesn't work there."

"That may be why the druids didn't have much offensive magic," said Draco, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Offensive magic is usually more wand-based."

"Correct," said Lord Flint. "Roman offensive magic was much more potent - which makes sense if you think about how they conquered much of the known world at the time. There are, however, some magics based on potions and wards that can be categorized as offensive magic. In 1800, an ancestor of mine made it his obsession to convert certain spells into potions - one of them was Fiendfyre."

He handed the a piece of parchment. Draco took it and Daphne read over his shoulder silently. It was a potions recipe - not too complicated, but complicated enough that you would need a NEWT to brew it.

"There are other potions my ancestors came up with, but this is the one that required a sacrifice big enough that I was sure it would work," said Flint. It did indeed require several sacrifices, not least the carcass of a chicken, a quarter pint of freely given human blood, and a drop of basilisk venom.

"This shouldn't take more than a few hours to make," noted Daphne, "especially if you have all the ingredients."

"I'm sure the Ministry stores will have them," said Lord Flint. "The rest of this parchment contains my other notes; things that may be useful to the Unspeakables in their research. The potion itself is Flint Family Magic. I hope you understand, Lord Malfoy and Madam Greengrass, that I am not giving this away lightly. I trust that you will honour our agreement?"

Daphne's stomach churned. Flint had, after all, killed at least five innocents, six if you included Turpin. As Head of the DMLE, she felt obliged to refuse. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair to let Flint go, just because he was able to help them with this war. And yet, how many innocents would die, if they refused? After several days, the Unspeakables had made no progress in their research. The small pile of parchment in front of Lord Flint was their best hope at effectively fighting Ynys Mon.

It was with that in mind that Daphne stayed silent as Draco vocalized their agreement and Lord Flint handed over his notes. Life was not always clear cut and dry, and sometimes you had to make tough decisions. She hoped she had made the right one.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

For someone who was only a consultant, Harry was spending an extraordinary amount of time in the DMLE. Daphne had summoned him again, and he was waiting outside her office as she tore into some rookie who had filed a bad report. It was a few more minutes before the door opened and the Auror practically fled outside.

"Come in, Harry," she called. He wondered how she knew he was outside.

Her office had started looking more like hers and less like Madam Bones'. Where Madam Bones had had a painting here or there and rows and rows of filing cabinets, Daphne had gotten rid of the filing cabinets. She had gotten a sturdier desk too, he noticed, a rather ornate looking thing with trees and plants carved on it. On her walls were green and brown drapes - she preferred earthy colours - and a painting of her family from before her father's passing.

"Take a seat," she offered. "We're waiting for Madam Bones still."

He sat down on one of the chairs opposite her. She shuffled papers around her desk as they waited. The door opened and Madam Bones walked in.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Madam Greengrass," she said. Daphne waved her away and gestured for her to sit.

"Okay," she said. "Here's a map of Ynys Mon. What I would like us to consider is an invasion plan."

"An invasion plan," said Madam Bones slowly. "But they have Celtic magic and muggle weapons, and we don't have any magic that works there. And more importantly, none of our Aurors can set foot there. We can't invade with just us three."

"Think of it as a mental exercise," said Daphne, grimly. "Assume the Unspeakables find a way to reverse Granger's ritual, and assume we have access, at the very least, to that Fiendfyre spell."

"What's the goal of the invasion?" asked Harry. He felt wary, unwilling to fall into the same trap the Ministry had fallen into before.

Daphne sighed. "Ideally, we need to take down Finch-Fletchley at least. Preferrably, the wards at Ynys Mon need to come down so that the Ministry can take over that village."

There was silence.

"I want you both to think on it," said Daphne. "It may, unfortunately, come to this, so we need to be ready. I know it's hard, but it'll be harder still if we're unprepared. Expect to report to my office with preliminary plans ..."

She was distracted by a silvery-white being that floated into the office. At first Harry thought it was a ghost, but then he realized it was a patronus. An otter.

A familiar voice spoke from the otter's mouth. "Zero three oh eight twenty nine fifteen bathroom, bring the goat's food."

Daphne grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled down the message.

"Whose patronus was that?" she demanded. "And what on earth did that message mean?"

Harry had, of course, recognized it right away. "It was Hermione's," he said. "I know that code. It's what we used against Voldemort. She wants to meet me at 3PM on the twenty-ninth of August - that's today, at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Leaky Cauldron?" asked Madam Bones, confused. "I'm guessing the numbers were the date and time, but how was she encoding that?"

Harry gave her an embarrassed grin. "Bathroom. You take a leak in the bathroom, so that means the Leaky Cauldron. Ron and I came up with that."

Both women rolled their eyes at him.

"And the goat's enemy?" asked Daphne.

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I think that might mean you though - goat's food, grass, green grass. Goats eat green grass. It's either that or she wants me to bring Aberforth Dumbledore's dinner, so I'm going with the former."

Daphne glanced at the clock. It was 2:45PM.

"She's not one to give much notice, is she?" she grumbled. "Very well then, let's go. Madam Bones, would you to shadow us under an Invisibility Cloak?"

"But ..." Harry opened his mouth to protest.

"Relax Potter," she said, using his last name, as she did when exerting authority. "I know you trust her, but she could be under duress, and this is just standard protocol. You know what happnened the last time you forgot protocol."

Harry blushed, remembering how he hadn't checked Lisa Turpin for portkeys before putting her in the Ministry holding cell. If he had known to do that, it was likely that this conflict with Ynys Mon would have been a lot shorter. He sighed. There were too many what-if's in his life. Sometimes he wished he could take a potion that would take him back to his eleven year old self's body. He would do many things differently, then.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

He recognized her almost immediately in the musty haze of the Leaky Cauldron. A petite, short-haired Asian girl in black robes was sitting in a corner booth, sipping her butterbeer. Not many people thought to change their race when putting on a glamour, but it was remarkably effective. Not many people associated, "Hermione Granger" with an Asian girl.

He recognized this particular glamour from one of their many recon missions just prior to Voldemort's defeat. Their eyes locked for a moment, and she nodded ever so slightly. He made his way over to her, Daphne in tow, and sat down. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shimmer of fabric as Madam Bones took the empty booth next to theirs.

"What was my Polyjuice form in second year?" she asked. Polyjuice, Daphne mouthed at him, but he didn't respond.

"A cat," he said. "What did you write on that piece of paper right before you were petrified?"

"Pipes," she answered. Satisfied, they pulled out their wands, and working in tandem they way they had hundreds of times during the War, they put up a battery of privacy charms. Harry smirked as he noticed Daphne's jaw drop at the fluidity and complexity of their charmwork.

"Thanks for meeting me at short notice," said Hermione. She wore a troubled expression on her fake Asian face. "I received some troubling information at Ynys Mon ... about some activities that I wanted to pass on."

Daphne opened her mouth to say something, but Harry touched her hand to silence her. She said nothing.

"What happened?" he asked.

She took a swig of her butterbeer. "I'm sure you've heard that I'm no longer on the Council," she said. "All of Britain seems to be talking about it, so you must know. Justin ousted me and declared Martial Law."

"We did hear," confirmed Harry. "And er, Hermione, I'm sorry about ..."

She waved him off. "It wasn't the best timing, but you did what you had to do. Honestly, I wish I had done it sooner, or encouraged you to do it sooner." She smiled wistfully. "I guess I had this fantasy that you'd be able to move in to Ynys Mon, and we could make it great together, and it would be like the old days. I know you've never been truly happy with Wizarding Britain."

He wasn't happy with Britain, that was true. Despite the House of Potter behind him, his Halfblood and Muggle-raised heritage excluded him from all the circles that mattered, and despite winning the War, he knew there would be people willing to obstruct him at every step, rendering him unable to effect the changes he wanted to make in this society. He was realizing though, that there would always be such people. Hermione had started fresh, and a Justin Finch-Fletchley had risen out of nowhere to smash her dreams.

"What was it you wanted to tell us?" asked Daphne, a touch of impatience lacing her voice.

Hermione swallowed. "One of the Council members came to see me just recently. They believe Justin will attempt to attack the Hogwarts Express on September 1st."

Harry did a doubletake. Besides him, Daphne looked equally shocked.

"He thinks that if he can take out the Express, Britain will lose a generation of Wizards and Witches - that this will be a blow Britain won't be able to recover from."

"He's right," murmured Daphne. "We lost enough people in the War against the Dark Lord that it's hard already. If we lost seven years' worth of children ..."

Harry let out a low whistle. "I'm so glad you told us," he said. "I think we were planning on having a few Aurors accompanying the Express ... but maybe we should call it off? Have the students floo to Hogsmeade, or to Hogwarts directly?"

"The Hogwarts Express has been running every year since 1827," said Daphne firmly. "I'll not let a traitor of a Muggleborn break a tradition almost 200 years old."

Hermione's eyes flashed.

"It has nothing to do with the fact that he's Muggleborn," she growled. "He's insane, and last I checked, Bellatrix Lestrange and her ilk were Purebloods and equally insane. Did you know Bellatrix personally killed two dozen children at a Muggle Primary School? Or perhaps it doesn't matter to you since Muggles are subhuman for you Purebloods ..."

"Enough!" said Harry, smashing his fist on the table. Hermione's butterbeer rattled precariously, forcing her to catch it before it fell. "We all want the same thing - to stop Justin and save lives. Can we please try and get along?"

Neither of them looked like they wanted to get along at well, but Hermione gave him a tight nod that Daphne mirrored shortly after.

"Is there any other information you can give us?" asked Daphne. "What means of attack he intends to employ, that sort of thing? Anything we can do to preempt it?"

Hermione shook her head. "My source didn't know anything except that it was being planned. I wouldn't put it past them to use Muggle methods - like a bomb on a bridge, or something, but I truly don't know."

"If you think of something," said Daphne, hesitantly, "if you can find a way to stop him, I'll personally make sure you have a place in Wizarding Britain. You'll be exonerated ..."

Hermione let out a full-bellied laugh.

"Thanks, Greengrass, but I have no desire to come to Britain," she said. "I've had enough of your culture. I would go back to Ynys Mon to try and find some way to stop them, but I'm not very welcome there these days. I'm leaving for Australia tomorrow."

"Australia?" asked Harry startled.

"My parents are still there," she said with a tremor in her voice. "I wanted to bring them back once Britain was safer, but I see now that that won't happen. Forgive me Harry, our owl correspondence will be delayed."

"We'll figure something out," he told her, though his insides were knotting up. Even when he had been on the continent, he had known Hermione was home, in Britain. Now she would be ten timezones away. "We can keep in touch over email. I can check mine at the library every couple of days ..."

Tears welled up in her eyes. Daphne looked uncomfortable.

"I'll be in the office, Harry," she said, getting up. "Come by when you're done with Granger."

She disapparated with a pop, leaving Harry facing Hermione. He reached out his hand to take hers and squeezed it tightly. The tears in her eyes began to flow freely.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Review and tell me what you think! The pieces are slowly moving into place for the final confrontation.


	23. The Bedlams

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 2****3:** The Bedlams

To Daphne, the Hogwarts Express attack was an excuse to galvanize efforts against Ynys Mon. Ministry departments that would have dragged their feet were suddenly moving much faster, now that they had been made aware that preventing an attack on September 1st was contingent on their efforts. Even the Department of Mysteries was finally putting its full attention towards getting the Aurors back on Ynys Mon.

Flint's notes had helped the Department track down a few potions and spells that they believed had potential to work on Ynys Mon. They were now employing various Muggleborns and Halfbloods to sneak onto Ynys Mon and test out these potions.

"Finch-Fletchley has got to know about this," Daphne told Harry presently. They were sitting in her office going over the invasion plans Daphne had asked Madam Bones and Harry to make. Also with them was McCullum, whose no-nonsense attitude and cutthroat efficiency had raised him considerably in Daphne's esteem. "I'm sure not all of the people the Department of Mysteries is hiring are as discreet as they pretend to be."

"Even if he does, there's little we can do," said McCullum. "So far, Ynys Mon hasn't made any attempt to stop them."

"I'm surprised," said Harry thoughtfully. "At school, I remember Finch-Fletchley was the cautious type - not really prone to brovado. He was a Hufflepuff. It's a risk for him to let them keep working."

"Maybe he's busy," suggested Daphne. "He just did a hostile takeover at Ynys Mon - I'm sure he's too busy consolidating power to be concerned with a few Muggleborns sneaking on and off the island."

"Or overconfident - they all put a lot of stock in that ritual of theirs," said Madam Bones.

"Maybe we're not putting enough stock in it," said McCullum grimly. He gestured towards the maps of Ynys Mon they had laid out on Daphne's desk. "With all due respect Madam Greengrass, shouldn't we be more worried about defending the Express? It's nice that the Department of Mysteries is helping us find offensive weapons, but as long as we can't set foot on that island, none of this is going to help us."

Daphne looked at him, hoping her conflicted feelings weren't showing on her face. She knew she was taking a gamble on actually being able to attack Ynys Mon, and she hoped dearly her gamble would succeed. All of them in that room had questioned her focus on the invasion at some point - even Harry - and she was starting to feel tired and worn down.

Harry spoke before she was able to. "I actually have something that may help with that," he said, pulling a roll of Muggle paper out of his pocket. "Hermione sent this to me - I just got it today. She must have owled it right before she left for Australia."

Daphne took the paper and skimmed it. A soft gasp escaped her lips. "This is the ritual," she said.

"It's the ritual," confirmed Harry, "but not the inverse of the ritual. The Department of Mysteries will have to figure that out. And there's something else - she gave us a hint. To invert the ritual, we'll need to beat the sacrifice they made when performing it."

"What does that mean?" asked Madam Bones. "The original sacrifice was blood from everyone affected by the ritual, and Marcus Flint's magic."

"We can get the blood," said Daphne. "What would be more valuable than someone's magic? Maybe two people's magic? I'm not sure if we can find even one person willing to give their magic up."

"I'm not sure I want to," Madam Bones said with a shudder. McCullum and Harry looked similarly repulsed, and Daphne herself felt queasy thinking about it.

"I'll think of something," she said at last. "Good job getting these from Granger; now let's see if the Department of Mysteries can do anything with this - we have less than 48 hours left."

She took a quill and scribbled a memo on a piece of purple parchment, and sent it off to the Department of Mysteries. They continued discussing the ritual until, less than five minutes later, two men walked into her unannounced. They were wearing thick cloaks with their hoods up, obfuscation charms over their faces.

"Identity," demanded Daphne. The men looked at each other, and the taller of them held out his hand. A tattoo bearing the symbol of the Department of Mysteries was on his palm. Daphne touched it with her wand, and it glowed an eerie green.

"Very well," she said, not bothering to conjure chairs for them. She knew they wouldn't sit. "We've discovered some news about the ritual Granger used."

She handed them a copy of the notes Harry had gotten. The taller man received them silently and glanced over them, with his companion reading over his shoulder.

"Will this help you reverse the ritual?" Daphne asked.

The taller Unspeakable spoke, "We don't know. Maybe. I think so."

Silence. Her companions said nothing, knowing that only Daphne's superiority held sway over the Unspeakables. She, herself, felt frustrated by the non-answer.

"When can you have answers by?" she asked, trying desperately to not let her frustration leak into her voice.

"If we succeed, the ritual will be delivered to you," said the shorter Unspeakable cryptically, speaking for the first time. Without another word, they turned around and swept out of Daphne's office.

"I hate those buggers," McCullum swore, grinding his teeth. "Unhelpful lot."

"We're back at square one," said Madam Bones. "Can we risk spending our time planning an attack we may not be able to carry out?"

They all looked at Daphne. The attention suffocated her and she began to feel tongue-tied again - something she thought she had conquered since taking over the DMLE.

"Yes," she surprised herself with what came out of her mouth. Her resolve hardened and the feeling of being on the spot melted away. "We'll stick to the plan, and I don't want to hear any questions about that any more. Understood?"

Murmurs of assent surrounded her. McCullum looked away. As if nothing had happened and the conversation had never taken place, they bent their heads over the map on Daphne's desk and continued planning.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Getting Marcus out of Flint Castle had been a chore. Draco had sent Lord Flint a request, asking to visit again, and it had been ignored. He knew Lord Flint wouldn't be so charitable if they showed up at his doorstep unannounced a second time. In the end, he had had to owl a letter with a special portkey to Marcus' elf - since Marcus himself didn't have a magical signature strong enough to get mail - and hope that the elf had the sense to deliver the letter to Marcus and not to Lord Flint.

The Portkey was set to go off at 8PM - it was 7:58 just then. Draco flagged down Tom the barman and asked him for a second firewhiskey for Marcus, just in case he showed up. And if he didn't - well, Draco would need that second firewhiskey. The chatter of the Leaky Cauldron behind him had a nervous tinge to it. He didn't know whether the populace itself was nervous, picking up on the unease within the halls of the Ministry, or he himself was projecting his feelings onto the crowd. He took another swig of firewhiskey, savouring the burn as it travelled down his throat.

Marcus materialized next to him at 8PM on the dot, and he greeted Draco with a friendly smile that would've been alien on the Marcus Draco knew from school. Flint had been in Sixth Year when Draco had first come to Hogwarts, and as Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, he was one of the few people whom Draco sought to please at Hogwarts, rather than the other way around.

"I ordered you a firewhiskey," said Draco, gesturing towards the bottle Tom had left on the table. "I hope you don't mind."

Marcus picked up the bottle with his left hand. Draco couldn't help but look towards Marcus' right hand - or the lack of right hand, hidden within the extra long sleeves of his robes. It was then that he realized that Marcus had lost not just his magic and his wand hand, but also his dominant hand. He politely looked away as Marcus held the firewhiskey to his body with his right hand, and then struggled to use his left hand to pull the cork off.

"Thanks," said Marcus, after he finally succeeded ad had gulped down several mouthfulls. "Ogden's firewhiskey - I've missed this." He gave the bottle a rueful look.

Draco frowned. "Can't you have the elf get you some?" he asked.

Marcus shook his head. "My allowance has been significantly … reduced," he sighed. "Father didn't even tell me. The elf just one day stopped getting me things I asked for."

Draco winced. "That must be difficult," he said, sympathy lacing his voice.

"It's difficult," said Marcus with a shrug. "I … I don't know what future I have in the world, to be honest. Father has been … harsher than I expected, and without his support, I cannot go anywhere, and I'm not about to go become a Muggle. It's my son that keeps me going, you know."

When he mentioned his son, his face glowed with pride and a smile broke across it, lightening his features. He looked almost happy, for once.

"How's he doing?" asked Draco. "Did you decide on a name?"

"Marius Flint, after my grandfather. Though old Marius must be rolling in his grave, knowing a halfblood has his name," said Marcus with a grin. He upended his bottle of firewhiskey, draining the remainder of its contents. Draco silently signalled for Tom to get another. "He's doing well, Marius is. He's not been missing his mother as much as I thought he would - seems to be really taken with the elf. I've been helping out, watching him, feeding him and the like. Kids need human attention, you know. Sometimes an elf just doesn't cut it."

Draco agreed, thinking back to his own childhood. His own parents had left more of his upbringing in Dobby's hands than he would've liked. Being brought up by a neurotic house-elf who had to obey your every order had led to some tendencies Draco had had to work very hard to get rid of in adulthood. He sometimes wondered what his childhood would have been like, had they not had a house-elf.

"I'm surprised your father lets you be that involved with Marius," said Draco as Tom placed the firewhiskey on their table. He watched Marcus intently for any reaction, but he didn't get any.

"I think I'm still useful," said Marcus, uncorking the bottle. His face was starting to flush from the alcohol. "Human contact, like I said, is good for Marius. Once he's old enough though ..."

He left the thought unfinished, choosing instead to focus on the firewhiskey, but Draco thought he knew where Marcus was going.

"You think you'll be phased out?"

Marcus' eyes glistened. "And even if I'm not? Do you think he'll ever respect his old man who doesn't have magic? Merlin knows, he won't see Father respecting me."

He clutched his bottle, wiping the tears from his eyes. It hurt Draco inside to see the once-proud wizard reduced to a semi-drunk Muggle. He wished he had some way to help his former housemate out, to give him an out, but what was life without magic? He steeled himself for what he was about to ask.

"You know, there is a way for him to respect you," he said quietly. Marcus had been staring at his firewhiskey, but now his head snapped up so fast, Draco almost felt the whiplash on his behalf.

"The Healers ..."

"The Healers are still right," said Draco. He felt a sense of purpose come over him and he stared at Marcus intently. "But there are ways you can avenge yourself. You can help us defeat the Mudbloods."

Marcus' face took on a feverish look.

"Anything," he whispered. "I'll do anything."

Draco took out his wand and cast a handful of privacy charms. He leaned forward, and in hushed tones, began laying out his plan.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daniel Bedlam stood on his porch on the little cottage he shared with his wife on Ynys Mon. The sun setting over the trees in the clearing that surrounded the Village, casting an orange glow that flared out of the western horizon. The Magic of the island they had been taught to sense hummed, surging with the power of the sunset. Inside the cottage, his wife was fretting over their daughter as she packed for her first year at Hogwarts.

"Honey," he called. "Come watch the sunset."

He heard some indistinguishable response and knew his wife wouldn't come out. Once she started a task, it was impossible to drag her away, and he knew not to try again. Instead, he contented himself with with watching the sun sink beyond the trees. The sky turned from orange to pink to red, and at last the colours faded away into a dark blue as the first stars twinkled into existence.

He walked back inside and laughed to see his daughter sitting on her trunk as his wife tried to close it. Emily barely weighed 30 kilos.

"Here, let me help," he said with a smile, pushing his daughter off the trunk and taking her place on it. Sandra struggled with the latch for a few more moments, and finally succeeded in closing the trunk.

"Success!" she said triumphantly as Emily cheered behind her.

"Good job daddy," said Emily. "You're a fatty!"

"Hey!" laughed Daniel, swiping at her as she shrieked and jumped out of his reach. The moment devolved into a mad chase around the living room as Daniel ran after Emily and Sandra blocked him whenever he got too close. Finally, he gave up and plopped down on the couch. "Fine," he said, "you win. I'm fat and I'm old."

Emily giggled and came up to him to give him hug. He squeezed her tightly.

"Are you looking forward to Hogwarts?" he asked. He knew she was; she had been talking about it nonstop since she had found she would be able to go.

"Yes!" she said. "But daddy, what if they won't let me in?"

"Don't worry honey, I have the papers for your admission," he said with a smile. "We even paid your tuition."

Sandra gave him a look from behind Emily, and his smile faded a little. Her admission papers had been hand delivered by a cloaked man who claimed to be from the Department of Mysteries, instead of by owl. It had unnerved Daniel, but he knews owls couldn't track people on Ynys Mon. The ambient magic threw them off.

"Ready honey?" asked Sandra, pulling out a green stone. "I've got your portkey here."

Emily beamed, taking the green stone in one hand and grasping her trunk in the other.

"Don't forget to give your Aunt the letter I attached to your trunk," said Sandra. "That will explain everything. And give her our love. Be safe, okay? We'll try and drop by King's Cross to see you off."

"I will Mommy, I promise," said Emily. "I love you both."

"We love you too, darling," said Daniel, and she disappeared from their living room, taking her trunk with her. The cottage suddenly seemed quiet and very empty. It was as if its life had drained away, and even the ambient magic of the island withdrew from it a little.

"I miss her already." Sandra was staring at the spot where Emily had portkeyed away from.

"Me too," said Daniel. He walked up behind his wife and put his arms around her. "Your sister will take care of her."

"Are you sure it's not a hoax? She'll actually have a place in Hogwarts?" asked Sandra anxiously. "She'll be devastated if they force her back ..."

"I'm sure it's not a hoax," said Daniel, though he didn't feel very sure.

The cloaked man had assured him of a place for his daughter in Hogwarts, if he provided some information about what was going on inside Ynys Mon. The information requested had been harmless enough, so Daniel hadn't thought it would hurt to share it - Emily had had her heart set on going to Hogwarts, and when it was announced that the children on Ynys Mon wouldn't be going to Hogwarts, she had cried her eyes out and begged to move back to England. He sighed. Maybe they should have listened to her.

"Do you think we should have gone back to England?" asked his wife. He hugged her tightly. Sometimes it felt like she could read his mind.

"Maybe," he answered. "We didn't know then that Hermione would leave. If I had known, I would've listened to Emily."

Hermione had known Sandra nominally - Sandra's dad had been a dentist too, and their fathers had been acquaintances. When Sandra and Daniel had trouble finding jobs in the Wizarding World, and with Emily's Hogwarts tuition looming ahead of them, Sandra had written to Hermione, hoping Hermione would be able to use her influence to help them out. Instead, they had received an invitation to come live at Ynys Mon, along with an offer to help them get their GCSE's.

"At least she'll be safe at Hogwarts, no matter what happens here," murmured Sandra, leaning back into his chest.

"Yeah," said Daniel. "I think we did the right thing, Sandra. I'm sure Justin knows what he's doing, but with Hermione gone ... we have to hedge our bets. Emily will be safer in England."

Sandra chuckled. "Isn't that why Ynys Mon exists? To be a safe space for Muggleborns? Funny how we don't feel safe here."

Almost as if in response, the ambient magic of the island roared and alarms started blaring outside. Sandra rushed to the door, locking it.

Daniel strode forward and pulled her away from the door.

"It'll be okay," he said, softly. "The wards will keep them out. I hope."

Just to be safe though, he pulled out a glass bowl and a silver knife. Sandra sniffed and held out her hand. He sliced her palm with the knife and she winced, letting a few drops of blood drop into the bowl. She then took the knife from him and did the same to Daniel's palm. The bowl turned blood red, and with a few murmured words Daniel healed his hand, and then Sandra's. Carefully, he carried the blood over to their door and splashed it onto the entranceway. Magic flared around them, travelling over their cottage, covering it in what Daniel imagined was a warm, comforting embrace. He suddenly felt tired and drained, and he stumbled backwards. Sandra caught him before he fell, gently guiding him to the couch. The last thing he was aware of was his wife's lips touching his before sleep overtook him.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **And so it begins! Will the Ministry deconstruct the ritual? What is Malfoy after Flint for? And what will the Bedlams' role be in the conflict? Review and tell me what you think!


	24. The Sacrifice

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 2****4****:** The Sacrifice

Mere hours before the Bedlams sent Emily to England, Daphne called a meeting in her office. She was sitting on her chair, tapping her fingers impatiently. In front of her sat Draco and Madam Bones, and standing behind them were Harry and McCullum. The atmosphere was tense, not least because Harry was glaring daggers at Draco's head and Draco was ignoring Harry with calculated indifference. She glanced at her watch - it was nearly 7PM, with an hour to go before sunset.

The doorknob jiggled and the man they were waiting for entered. She recognized him as the tall Unspeakable who had earlier been in her office, but still she knew to follow protocol.

"Identity?" she asked, and the man held out his hand. She touched her wand to his tattoo, and it glowed. "What do you have for us?"

"We are ready," rasped the man. "I will perform the ritual. Do you have the sacrifices?"

Daphne gave him a terse nod. Madam Bones held up a set of vials, each containing the blood of an Auror who had been captured at the DMLE.

"And the remainder?" the Unspeakable asked.

"Draco will fetch the remainder with you," said Daphne. "Are you sure the ritual will work?"

The man said nothing. She imagined he was staring at her from under his obfuscated hood and the thought made her squeamish.

"We don't know," he said at last. "But it's as good a chance as we're going to get. There's no more time, is there?"

There was a lilt in his voice towards the end, and it threw her off. There was time, she knew she could make time. She could call off the Express and portkey the students to Hogwarts. That would give the Unspeakables more time to iron out the ritual, but dare she? She had spent the past several days commanding, for all intents and purposes, the entirety of the Ministry's resources. No, there was no way she could put this off. She had to keep going.

"No," she said quietly, trying not to think of Marcus. "There is no more time. Draco?"

The Malfoy heir got up. With a slight nod to Daphne, he swept out of the office with the Unspeakable in tow.

"Does everyone else know their roles? Any last questions?" she asked, gazing around the room. McCullum had an expression of grim determination on his face. Madam Bones looked emotionless, as she tended to when she got stressed. Harry looked conflicted. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"All right, let's go. Madam Bones, McCullum, gather the troops. I'll be by to brief them shortly," she said. The old Auror and former Head of Department left, leaving her alone with Harry. "What's going on, Harry?"

"Why don't you want me helping you with the ritual?" he asked without preamble. "Sorry, I know it's a bad time to be questioning orders ..."

"It's fine," she interrupted him. "Honestly, I'd rather you not know ..."

"I want to know what it is that you need Malfoy for that I can't do," he said with a frown. Daphne gave him an exasperated look. She took a deep breath.

"If you must know," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "The sacrifice is Marcus Flint. I sought to spare you from the moral ambiguity of having to be part of that. Draco has more experience and ability with those kinds of situations."

It was a subtle jibe at his inability to be there with the Department at the Battle of Menai. She didn't know if he picked up on it.

"I see," he said, looking at her blankly. "But Flint ... he has no magic?"

"He has no magic because he valued his life more than his magic," said Daphne. "Now he is willing to give that up as well."

"So if he gives up his life, that should negate the ritual," said Harry, realization dawning on his face.

"I placed you where your strength would be best used, Harry. If it makes you feel better, consider that Marcus will be more comfortable with Draco in his final moments than with you," she said. He looked a little guilty, she noted. Good.

"Right," he said. He turned to leave her office and then paused. "There was nothing else you could do? No other sacrifice?"

"I could pick any Muggle off the streets," said Daphne. "Or choose someone with a life sentence in Azkaban, but you know the sacrifice has to be willing. Granger was very explicit about that. And even if it is willing, there is no telling whether someone with a life sentence in Azkaban would value their life more than Marcus valued his magic. No, this is our safest bet. Just ... don't think about it, Harry. Be a soldier for these next few hours. Focus on your orders."

He gave her a nod and a mock salute. She couldn't help but smile, releasing some of the tension that had been building up.

"Good luck Daphne," he said.

"You too, Harry."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

"No more'n four to a boat."

The gruff giant's words echoed through Marcus' head. He had been one of those without pity for the half-giant, mercilessly mocking Hagrid as he passed him in the grounds and the halls during their Hogwarts days, so it was funny that he was on Marcus' mind during his last few hours in the world.

They sat, four to a boat, in a dingy little craft that was probably not meant to be as far out into the ocean as it was. He wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, shivering. None of the others seemed to be as cold as he felt. Draco sat next to him, close but not too close. In front of him, avoiding his eyes for the most part, was Daphne Greengrass. She was a pretty witch, and had she been a few years older, Marcus might have tried to pursue her at Hogwarts. Behind Daphne, looking out in the direction of the infernal island of Ynys Mon was the Unspeakable.

"Would you like a warming charm?"

It was Greengrass. He knew Draco would have had too much respect for Marcus' pride to offer, but dying men had no pride.

"Yes please," he said. She took out her wand and cast the spell. They were far enough away from Ynys Mon that it still worked. He hoped it would last once they landed on the island.

"Can we go faster?" asked Draco. The boat was rowing itself, with a silencing charm on the oars.

"We don't want to move too fast," said the Unspeakable. His harsh voice made Marcus uneasy. "The ritual has to be performed at sunset. Getting there earlier means more time to get caught."

Draco muttered something under his breath, but Marcus ignored him, turning his thoughts inwards instead. Ever since Draco had broached the subject to him, Marcus had felt much happier, in a way he hadn't since he had lost his magic. It was as if he had a sense of purpose again, a duty towards his son, Marius. Draco had promised him that Marius would know of the sacrifice Marcus made, and that Marcus would be celebrated as a hero. It was better than watching his son grow up to revile him, the way Father now reviled Marcus. Maybe, Marcus mused, Father would respect him again, once he was gone.

He thought of Sansa, the only woman he had ever loved. He wondered if there was an afterlife, whether she would be waiting for him. What would she say when she saw him, he wondered. Would she thank him, for taking care of their son? Or hate him, for leaving Marius to be raised by Lord Flint, a man she despised. He shuddered and pushed the thought out of his mind. Marius would be better off without Marcus in the picture. There was nothing he could do anyway.

A dull thud jolted him out of his reverie. The boat had hit land.

"Come," said the Unspeakable. His obfuscated face showed no expression, but there was an urgency to his actions. Draco and Daphne looked uncomfortable. Marcus, himself, felt nothing. He had no magic for Ynys Mon to interact with. "Do you know where the glade of trees is that Granger described?"

"Where is the bridge?" asked Daphne, towards whom the question had been addressed. Marcus could make out the Bridge of Menai to the north, faint in the light of the setting sun. The Unspeakable pointed towards it and Daphne nodded. She took the lead now, taking them away from the boat and towards a glade of trees not far from them.

What happened then, Marcus wasn't able to explain. They entered the glade, and he started feeling strange sensations, as if spirits were calling out to him. The trees gave way and all he could see were mists.

"The Mists, the Mists," the spirits called out. "Come to the Mists."

He tried to go to the Mists, but a firm, cold hand grasped his and pulled him. He knew then that he was experiencing magic his body was not able to comprehend. He clutched the hand, letting it guide him, trying desperately to drown out the voices.

The experience lasted only a few seconds but it felt like several minutes. His vision started clearing up and the hand let go. He stumbled onto the ground, his breath coming in heavy gasps as the ground faded into view. The grass under his left hand and the stump of his right arm felt cool and wet to touch.

He looked up and flinched at the sight of the golden pedestal in the middle of the clearing. It was the same pedestal Granger had cut his hand off on. The sky was orange overhead, and Marcus breathed the cool, evening air deeply. Sensations popped out to him - the chirping of birds in the background, the sound of the wind rustling in the trees around him, the distinct shape of every blade of grass. Life was beautiful, he realized, even without magic.

He stood up. Daphne had been the one to help him, he assumed, for she was standing next to him. Draco was examining the pedestal with interest. The Unspeakable had laid out the ingredients for his ritual and was getting ready.

"How long will it take?" he asked.

The Unspeakable made no move to respond. As Marcus watched, he drew a circle around himself in white chalk. Then, checking his parchment frequently, he began muttering to himself. The chirping of the birds quieted down.

"Sunset is in 20 minutes," whispered Daphne. Marcus jerked in surprise. He had almost forgotten the question he had asked.

The Unspeakable now pulled out a snake from a bag he had on him. The snake writhed angrily in his hands, threatening to bite him, but the Unspeakable slammed it onto the ground, and with a quick stroke of a silver knife, chopped its head off. Marcus winced. The body of the snake writhed on the ground for a few seconds before it slowed down and lay limply within the circle.

He did this six more times - seven in all, for seven was magically the most powerful number. Something shifted with the death of the seventh snake. Even Marcus was able to pick up on it, though Draco and Daphne seemed to feel it more keenly. Daphne walked up to Draco and spoke to him in hushed whispers. He frowned at her, but eventually nodded, and she left the clearing. Draco moved to stand next to Marcus. The Unspeakable continued his work, chanting words Marcus did not understand.

"Where did she go?" whispered Marcus.

"Outside," answered Draco. "In case we get company."

Without missing a beat, the Unspeakable slammed a staff on the white circle. The chalk and snake corpses disappeared, and the altar glowed brightly for a moment before fading to its original gold colour.

"It is done," said the Unspeakable. His voice sounded clear for once, and pregnant with power.

Draco glanced at Marcus. "But the sacrifice?"

"It will be performed at sunset."

There were five minutes till sunset. Never had five minutes been shorter or longer for Marcus. He tried to savour every passing second, greedily taking in the surroundings with all his senses. His heart thudded with the anticipation of what lay ahead.

Draco touched his arm and brought him crashing back to reality.

"Think of Marius," he said.

Marius. His son, Marius Flint. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a small picture he had begged the elf to take for him. It was a picture of Marius, yawning as he slept. He stared at it for a few moments before he realized the picture wasn't moving. The magic of Ynys Mon must have been interfering with it. He would never see his son move again.

The orange in the sky turned slightly red, and while they couldn't see the sun setting, Marcus knew it was sunset. The Unspeakable moved towards the altar and started uncorking the vials of blood and pouring them on it.

Draco moved a step behind Marcus, his hand on Marcus' shoulder. Marcus wasn't fooled into thinking that Draco was trying to comfort him. It was a precaution, to make sure he didn't have second thoughts. Marcus swallowed.

Did he have second thoughts, he wondered. It was too late to have second thoughts. He wished he could have a day though. A single day, one more day, but lives were at stake, and his life - his Muggle life - was the least valuable of them all. Better to die a hero than live a Muggle, he thought with a smile. How Gryffindor of him.

The Unspeakable was pouring out the last vials. Marcus swallowed as Draco gently led him towards the altar.

"Don't forget..." said Marcus, "don't forget your promise. Make sure ... make sure Marius knows."

"He'll know," said Draco. "All of Britain will know."

"And ... and my Father," said Marcus.

"Him too," said Draco. "Everyone will know."

He was facing the altar now, the Unspeakable in front of him, on the other side of the altar. He shivered, he didn't know whether from cold or from anticipation. His eyes were drawn towards the blood-stained knife the Unspeakable had used to kill the snakes with.

"Close your eyes," whispered Draco, and Marcus did so. "Think of Marius - he'll be so proud."

He thought of Marius as Draco pushed him against the altar. Tears started flowing down his cheek.

Then he felt the smallest bit of discomfort near his neck, and he was conscious of something warm on his neck. He reached up to touch it; it was his blood. The last thought he had before his vision faded to black was how cold the altar felt against his cheek. And then Marcus Flint knew no more.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

The Auror company had gathered outside a restaurant in the Muggle town of Bangor. There were twelve of them, with the thirteenth being Harry, who was now conversing with Ali - his former colleague of Bangladeshi origin from when Harry was living with Hermione. He had asked Ali to arrange for a schoolbus and taxi, and Ali had delivered.

"Both drivers are friends o' mine," said Ali in his thick Welsh accent. "They'll take ye in nice an' safe. There's just one problem ..."

"What?" asked Harry.

"The bus driver, he had ta turn down another gig ta do this, so I had ta pay him extra. Another 200 quid."

Ali wiped his brow nervously and Harry knew he was lying. Ali thought Harry was an MI6 agent, and Harry hadn't bothered to correct him.

"Very well then," he said, pulling a few notes from his pocket and handing them to Ali. With everything coming up, it wasn't worth fighting for a few extra gallons. The DMLE could afford it. Ali flashed him a grin.

"The boys are ready whenever you are," he said, and turned to go back inside the restaurant. His brown-skinned friends remained outside, each standing next to his vehicle.

"We'll need you first," said Harry to the taxi driver. "McCullum, do you need anything before we go?"

"I'm good Potter, Godspeed," said McCullum with a grunt. He was in charge, technically, but Harry was responsible for getting everyone on the island.

"Jacobs, come with me," said Harry, getting into the taxi.

Kevin Jacobs got in with him. He was a halfblood Auror who had taken up Daphne's offer of triple the usual hazard pay for being the test subject of the ritual. Harry was surprised anyone had been up for it - losing their magic and maybe even their life was an alarming prospect for any wizard, but apparently Jacobs had a gambling problem and he really needed the money to pay off his creditors.

"Drive up to the Bridge of Menai, but do not cross over it until I tell you to," instructed Harry. "Park close to it, or just go around until we're ready."

"Yes sir," said the driver, not questioning the instructions except to raise an eyebrow. Ali must have communicated his suspicions to him.

They drove up to Menai, and the familiar influences of the Magic of Ynys Mon started washing over Harry. Jacobs gasped besides him. Harry's magic felt wild, and out of control. It was as if reverberations from the ancient battle of the Roman forces against the native Celts were still hanging in the air around them. The driver parked the taxi near the bridge and they waited for the sun to set. It was almost time.

The sky turned red. Harry clutched his wand in nervous anticipation. They must be performing the ritual. And then, out of nowhere, Jacobs let out a cry of pain.

"Jacobs?"

The taxi driver was looking at them with concern as well. Harry didn't bother to cast a Muffliato - the driver might need to be obliviated at the end of the night anyway.

"The Magic, Sir," Jacobs said, with wide eyes. He was trembling. "It just came over me, and I felt a sharp pain. It's gone now."

Harry glanced at his watch. It was past sunset.

"Let's cross the bridge," he said. The taxi driver backed out of his parking spot and joined the flow of traffic in crossing the bridge. Harry had crossed it many times now, on his trips to and from Bangor, so he was used to the effects of the Straits of Menai on his magic. Jacobs, however, was less experienced, and kept letting out the occasional gasp.

"Is your friend okay?" the taxi driver asked Harry with a concerned look on his face.

"Yes, he's perfectly fine," answered Harry politely with as straight a face as he could manage. "He just has some cramps."

Jacobs shot him a look that Harry ignored. The taxi driver accepted the answer and drove them in silence. Traffic was minimal at that time, so it only took them a few minutes to cross the bridge, and then they were driving in Ynys Mon.

"How do you feel?" asked Harry, looking closely at Jacobs.

"Fine, Sir," answered Jacobs, sounding surprised. "Perfectly fine, now that we're away from that bridge."

"All right, let's go back then," said Harry. The taxi driver turned around wordlessly and took them back to Bangor. Jacobs was much less perturbed, crossing the bridge this time. Once they got off in front of the restaurant, Harry dismissed the taxi driver with polite thanks and took Jacobs and McCullum to an alley.

"Let's see what you got," said McCullum to Jacobs in his gruff voice.

Jacobs pulled out his wand. "Lumos!"

The tip of the wand flickered, and then it glowed with a pale, yellow light. Jacobs broke out a huge smile in relief. McCullum was practically dancing on his feet.

"They did it, Potter! It worked!" he said excitedly, as Jacobs stared at his lit wand. "Let's get this show on the road."

They climbed into the schoolbus, all thirteen of them.

"We'll be going to Newborough," said Harry to the bus driver. The man nodded and started the bus. Several of the Purebloods in their group exclaimed when the engine started up, and more than one jumped from their seats.

"How does it work without magic?" asked one of them fearfully, as the engine revved up and the driver pulled out.

McCullum must have been in a feisty mood, because he answered, "On fire. It runs on fire."

The Pureblood was not amused.

They drove in silence for the most part, uneasiness settling on them as they crossed Menai, and then fading away as they got off the Motorway and onto the side road that led to Newborough. Tension gripped them now, with the task at hand, and each of them brooded on the goals at hand.

"I hope thirteen wands is enough," said McCullum in a low voice.

Harry nodded in agreement. "We know what we're doing this time," he said. "And if we don't ... I'd rather not be sitting ducks again without an Auror force like last time."

McCullum grunted in response.

It took them less than 20 minutes to get to their destination. Harry directed the man to a small church on the western part of the city that was as close to the forest as you could get while still staying in the Muggle settlement.

"Do you want me ta wait here?" asked the driver, as the thirteen Aurors piled out into the brisk evening air.

Harry nodded, giving the man a wad of cash. "You'll get the other half in Bangor," he said.

The sun had set by now, and darkness was reaching the western part of the sky. The temperature had dropped, and some of the Aurors were shivering. One pulled out his wand to cast a warming charm, but McCullum grabbed his wand arm.

"That won't work," he said. "And even if it did, don't risk it. No magic until we're in position."

Harry glanced at his watch. "Is everyone comfortable with their role?"

They all nodded. A few of them patted the front pockets of their robes, and Harry heard their vials clinking inside.

"All right, let's fan out around the forest. I want everyone in position within ten minutes. Wardmaster, you and your assistant stay with me. I will take you to the edge of the wards."

They shuffled off, staying low until they reached the forest itself. Harry watched them disappear into it and drew a deep breath. He hoped this would work. He glanced at his watch again.

"Auror Potter," said the Wardmaster imperiously, "what are we waiting for?"

He was a younger man - they had brought a different Wardmaster this time, in order to insure themselves against the failure of the ritual - and his pomposity reminded Harry of Percy Weasley from when Percy first got hired at the Ministry. His assistant was younger still, nervously shuffling various papers and glancing at the occasional piece of parchment through horn-rimmed glasses.

Harry didn't have to respond, for moments later a hooded figure came around the church and headed towards them. He tensed, hand going for his wand, but when the figure walked up to them and pulled their hood down, it was Daphne. She looked stately and in control, like the ice princess she had been at Hogwarts, but even in that low light, Harry noticed that her eyes were slightly puffy. Ignoring his screaming instincts, he put his arms around her and gave her a hug. She tensed in his arms, but then he felt her wipe her eyes on his shoulder.

Their obnoxious Wardmaster cleared his throat. Harry felt like slapping him as he pulled away.

"Ready?" he asked Daphne, ignoring the man. She nodded, holding out a green stone. Harry recognized it. It was the very first portkey they had used to stake out the perimeter ward at Ynys Mon. Each of them placed a finger on it, and with a quick pull on their navels, they were in the heart of the forest, just outside the perimeter ward.

The Wardmaster opened his mouth, but Daphne silenced him with a frigid glare. She nodded to Harry, and he took out a knife from his pocket. Pricking his index finger, he let several drops of blood drop onto the forest floor. The Magic of the forest roared around him, welcoming him, thanking for his sacrifice. He closed his eyes and reached out to it with his core, pulling it into him. This close to the center of the forest, the Magic was strong, and it made him even stronger.

"What do you think, Wardmaster?" he asked in a low voice, gesturing in the direction of the Perimeter Ward. The Wardmaster seemed to realize then that he should be doing his job and started hissing instructions at his assistant. The assistant pulled out what looked like a magnifying glass and some stones with runes inscribed upon them and handed them to the Wardmaster.

"You can go ahead and start, Aurors," said the Wardmaster, not looking at them. "I can bring these down in no time."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Daphne, who shrugged.

"He's the best we could get," she mouthed. And then out loud, she said, "Go ahead, Potter."

He pulled out his wand and pointed it up at the night sky. The stars twinkled at him through the canopy of the forest. With a muttered spell, a green light flew from his wand and raced towards the sky, Once it reached a high enough altitude, it soundlessly exploded into a firework-like display, with sparks of green and white raining down. It was a dangerous signal to use, but he hoped that anyone who saw it from Ynys Mon would assume it was a distant firework from the Muggle settlement.

The Magic of the forest suddenly twisted and screamed, and they felt a sudden dread fill them. It went from being welcoming and happy to vicious and wild, and Harry suddenly felt very unsafe and insecure. He gripped his wand, keeping the channel between his magic and the forest open. He felt the forest's magic weaken, as it distracted itself to focus on the attack it was under.

Around Harry, Daphne and the Wardmaster didn't react, and he knew it was because of whatever connection the forest had made with him that day when he had approached Hermione. He took a deep breath and focused on their surroundings. He had to protect the Wardmaster.

The forest continued to scream. Birds flew into the air, flocks and flocks of them, and animals rustled in alarm, coming out of their burrows and their hiding places. Harry saw a family of hares making a beeline towards the clearing, crossing the Perimeter Ward with ease, and he felt bad for them. Fiendfyre was a vicious spell. There was little chance their forest wouldn't get burned down.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **I got hardly any reviews on the last chapter. Is anyone still reading this? Thanks to the five people who did review!


	25. Fireworks

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 2****5****:** Fireworks

Daphne checked her watch. It had been six minutes since the Wardmaster had begun his work and the attack had started. Harry was pacing behind her and the Wardmaster was hissing furiously at his assistant as the younger man frantically searched through rolls and rolls of parchment.

"Any progress?" asked Harry. He was gripping his wand, glancing warily around the forest. The sun was gone, and the only light they had was the Muggle torch that Harry had provided, under which the Wardmaster was working. In the distance, over the canopy, Daphne thought she saw a dull, orange haze that must have been the fiendfyre.

"If Trevor here was half as competent as he claimed to be," said the Wardmaster furiously, "the wards would already be down. Trevor, there is one ward book you know I constantly refer to and you forget to bring it …"

"Wardmaster," interrupted Daphne, "I have ten men who are risking their lives right now so you can do your job. Do try and hurry up."

She doubted very much that poor Trevor was to blame for the situation. She knew wizards like the Wardmaster - they liked to promise big, and when they failed to deliver, they were quick to blame others. Her own nerves started to creep up on her and she checked her watch again. Seven minutes. Mentally she berated herself for getting talked into taking this particular Wardmaster.

A wave of magical energy passed through them. Harry almost jumped out of his skin. Daphne felt goosebumps, and even the Wardmaster and Trevor looked up.

"What was that?" asked Daphne, unable to hide the alarm from her voice.

Trevor pulled out his wand and cast a few diagnostic spells.

"Anti-portkey wards, Madam Greengrass. They're old-fashioned, but definitely anti-portkey wards," he said.

The Wardmaster slapped Trevor's wand out of his hand.

"You let me tell them what wards are here, and focus on finding the Ward Recognition sequence," he said, raising his voice above what Daphne thought necessary. Trevor shrank back into himself and returned to looking through the Wardmaster's papers. Harry gave Daphne a look but she was distracted by what the Wardmaster had said.

"Hold on," she said. "Ward Recognition sequence? Don't you know that by heart?"

The Ward Recognition sequence was a set of basic runes that could be used to decipher simple wards. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to understand and learn, but you had to know it by heart to do well on the Ancient Runes NEWT.

The Wardmaster spluttered. "Well, you see, this is a customization of the regular Ward Recognition sequence. We developed it specially for Ynys Mon. Hurry up Trevor!"

Daphne's eyes narrowed as she took in the Wardmaster's appearance. He was wearing rich, silk robes with an insignia of some Ancient House or the other. Sweat poured down his face as he continued blathering at Trevor to hurry up, and she realized what the Wardmaster was - a rich Pureblood who had used his connections to move his way up the ranks without much merit. She doubted very much that there was any custom version of the Ward Recognition sequence, and she suspected, quite frankly, that the Wardmaster was just stumped.

"Daphne," said Harry in a low voice. He was pointing in the sky, and she looked up just in time to see a shower of red sparks from a firework. One of their Aurors was in trouble. "The anti-portkey ward is up - the only way they can escape is on foot, and with the fires raging."

She ground her teeth. The plan had been to set off the fire, wreck mayhem, and then Portkey out if things got too hot. When the Wardmaster succeeded, the Aurors were supposed to Portkey to where Daphne and Harry now stood, and storm the clearing. With the Portkey ward up, no one would be able to move in or out.

Quickly, she made a decision. "Trevor, can you bring the anti-portkey ward down?"

Trevor was so shocked that he fumbled the parchment he was holding, spilling it on the forest floor. The Wardmaster screeched. "Madam Greengrass, I must insist that you not distract my assistant! We are losing precious time …"

"Answer the question, Trevor," she interrupted, ignoring the Wardmaster.

Trevor wiped his brow. He was wearing Muggle clothes, Daphne noted, so he was either a Halfblood or a Muggleborn. She guessed that he was actually more capable than the Wardmaster, and that he had been held back because of his blood status. Trevor looked nervously between the Wardmaster, who was rapidly turning purple, and Daphne, and came to a decision.

"Yes, Madam Greengrass, I … I think I can," he said.

"Trevor, you insolent …" began the Wardmaster, but Daphne had lost patience with him.

"Stun him, Potter," she ordered. Harry didn't waste a second. There was a flash of red light and the Wardmaster crumpled on the floor. "All right Potter, go and see who you can save. I'll watch over Trevor. Once we bring the anti-portkey ward down, make your way back here and we'll see if we can still get in."

He looked at her in concern and opened his mouth to protest.

"Now, Potter."

He nodded and slunk away into the darkness. As she left, another firework went up in the air, showering down purple sparks in the sky. Eight left out of ten.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

It was hard to see in the darkness that night. As he moved, the trees got thicker and thicker. The Magic of Ynys Mon, panicking as it felt the pain of the forest burning, was only nominally responsive to him. He reached out to it with his own magic, soothing it, attempting to calm it down.

The first Auror he came across was alone. He was shepherding the fire away from where Daphne and Trevor were attempting to break down the wards. With hushed directions and not much explanation, Harry sent him out of the forest to where the bus driver was waiting.

"What about the fire, Sir?" the Auror had asked, to which Harry shrugged in response. In the worst case, he supposed Daphne and Trevor could cross the wards if the fire got too close, and let themselves be imprisoned by Ynys Mon. Daphne was resourceful enough that she would figure something out.

Another firework went up. It was close by, and Harry hurried to the source to find an Auror trapped by the Fiendfyre and screaming for help. He took a deep breath and moved the earth from the forest to create a path for her to escape. She stumbled out, coughing hoarsely. Tears ran down her soot-stained face, streaking her cheeks, and she fell on the floor, panting.

"Thank you," she said to Harry. She could barely walk, so he put her arm over his shoulders and helped her to the edge of the forest. "I don't know how I got trapped - I guess I got overconfident thinking the Portkey would help me escape. I'm so glad you came along, otherwise ..."

She couldn't finish her sentence. As they passed the edge of the forest, Harry felt what must have been the ward line of the anti-portkey wards.

"Your portkey should work now," he said. She thanked him once again and disappeared.

The next two Aurors, he was also able to rescue easily, but when he found the fifth, he ran into some trouble. The man was fine and his Fiendfyre was under control, but as Harry was talking to him, he lunged at Harry, pulling him to the ground. A giant rock whizzed overhead where they had been standing.

Harry cast a blind stunner in the direction the rock had come from and heard a muffled swear followed by a thump. He waited. There was no more sound. Cautiously, he stuck his head up, and another large rock whizzed by him. Growling, he stuck out his wand and cast Incendio.

Bright, orange flames flew out of his wand in the direction of the attackers. He saw them - there were three in all, including the man he had downed. They shrieked in terror - presumably thinking the fire he had just created was Fiendfyre - and fled, leaving their companion.

"What should we do about him?" asked the Auror, staring at the stunned man dubiously. Harry glanced up at the Fiendfyre that was getting out of control as the Auror had shifted his attention.

"I suppose we should get him out," he said. "Can't leave him here to burn to death."

He levitated the man in front of them, and they walked out of the forest. As they reached the edge, another two fireworks went up, one green, one yellow. Harry let out a despairing sigh and trudged in the direction of the fireworks. He was starting to feel exhausted.

He was blocked from going any further by a large wall of fiendfyre. It was raging heavily in that part of the forest. He came across a few figures who were fighting the fire. They saw him and called out to him, but he didn't respond, choosing instead to slink away into the forest. Mentally, he counted down the number of fireworks he had seen. There had been five, of which one he had rescued. Another four had been safe when he directed them away, so there was at least one more Auror who was safe and in the forest. Another four were in some kind of danger. He didn't know what, and he didn't know if they were alive.

He was wondering whether he should go back to Daphne or keep searching for the last Auror when, all of a sudden, the anti-portkey ward fell. He shot up a white firework in the sky - hopefully the last Auror would see it and know to retreat - and pulled out a green stone, portkeying himself to where Daphne and Trevor were working on the wards.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daphne was not pleased to see him.

"Really, Potter? Fiendfyre raging all over the forest and you choose to Portkey here?" she asked sarcastically. "What if you had landed smack in the middle of Fiendfyre?"

He hadn't thought of that, tired as he was. Daphne seemed to notice and took pity on him.

"Here." She handed him a vial. He took a chug out of it and instantly felt more alert. Gentle steam issued from his ears as the Pepper-up Potion took effect.

"Good job on the Portkey ward, Trevor," he said. "Can you do anything about the rest of them and get us in?"

Trevor poked and prodded the wards with his wand for a few minutes, mumbling under his breath. "I could disable the Perimeter Ward," he said at last. "And a couple of the other nastier ones, if I had the time. But the fire is getting close, and there are a few that I don't recognize."

The Fiendfyre was indeed getting close. Harry could already feel the heat from it and soot was starting to blow in their faces.

Daphne swore profusely and kicked the Wardmaster's prone body.

"That's more than this idiot could have done," she said bitterly. "We lost, and it's on his head. And mine, I suppose. I should have vetted him more thoroughly. Merlin knows how many Aurors I lost for nothing. I don't suppose you are strong enough to overpower these wards the way you did those on Weasley's prison?"

He opened his mouth to tell her that the clearing was too big, and he didn't think he could, when he remembered something Bill Weasley had told him.

"Shortcut," he said.

"Excuse me?" asked Daphne, confused.

"Shortcut," he said excitedly, turning to face Trevor. "There's a ward, something shortcut. Can you do that ward?"

"Do you mean Set's Shortcut?" asked Trevor warily. "That's not a ward, that's a ward breaking tool, and it's dangerous. There are no shortcuts in ward breaking, Auror Potter ..."

But Harry was not to be dissuaded.

"Bill Weasley said that he thought Set's Shortcut was similar to what Turpin used to get into the Notts'," he told Daphne. "I have a feeling it might work here, Bill said it needed blood and with a blood sacrifice ..."

Daphne's face lit up. "Can you do it?" she asked Trevor.

"Madam Greengrass, I don't recommend ..." He saw her face and sighed. "Yes, yes I can," he said. "But it will take me several minutes, and I'll need a vial of blood from both of you."

"From the three of us." A third voice spoke up from the woods. It was McCullum. Harry let out a mental cheer. "Where's everyone else?"

"Retreated," answered Harry. "Did you send up sparks?"

"I did not," McCullum answered, looking confused.

Trevor cleared his throat. "May I get the blood, please?" he asked. Daphne stepped forward while Harry filled McCullum in, letting Trevor draw a vial of blood from her. He repeated the steps with Harry and McCullum. "The fire is getting close," he said nervously, pulling a cauldron out of his bag. "I'll need about ten minutes."

Harry and McCullum stepped back to fight the fire. It was good that they did, for it was rapidly heading in their direction. They fought it as best they could, but the fire was incredibly strong and it forced them to retreat over and over again, until they were within a dozen or so feet of where Trevor was muttering something over a tiny cauldron.

"Any time now, Trevor," Harry called, shooting a jet of water from his wand to keep some of the more aggressive flames away. Sweat poured down his face and back in rivulets. It was getting hard to breathe.

"I'm done," said Trevor triumphantly. He took out a silver knife and dipped it into his potion. Then, stepping towards the wards, he sliced at them, once, twice, and then thrice again. "Quickly."

They dashed in, McCullum first, followed by Daphne and then Harry. Behind them the fire closed in with a roar, and they could only hope that Trevor had managed to portkey out.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Set's Shortcut must have succeeded, because they made it through successfully and unnoticed, to the Village of Ynys Mon. They could no longer feel the heat, except through the three slices that Trevor had made in the wards, and it was no longer overwhelming. Harry breathed the cool, evening, sootless air deeply, coughing as quietly as he could to empty his lungs of the ash he had breathed in. Besides him, Daphne dabbed her face clean with a handkerchief and McCullum did the same with the sleeve of his robes.

"What now?" asked McCullum, when they had managed to catch their breath. The original plan had been to storm the Village with all thirteen Aurors along with a fresh, well-armed contingent that had been waiting at the Department. Now, they were just three Aurors and their only way out was to walk into that inferno of Fiendfyre.

"Maybe we should have portkeyed out, when we had a chance" said Harry.

With the adrenaline fading, he was starting to feel tired and his throat was parched. He stuck his arm into his pocket - it had an extension charm on it - and pulled out a bottle of water. He drank deeply and splashed some water on his face before passing it to Daphne and McCullum.

"No," said Daphne suddenly. Harry looked at her in askance. "No. If we portkeyed out, they would've beefed up their defenses and we wouldn't have had this chance again. And Merlin knows how many innocents they would have killed. We have a golden opportunity right now - they don't know we're inside. As far as they're concerned, we tried to beat their wards, lost, and beat a hasty retreat. We can still finish this war today."

"How?" asked McCullum, but Harry couldn't help but look at Daphne in admiration. He knew she was as tired and exhausted as she was, but she wasn't letting any of it show. Determination lined her face and there was a spark in her eyes that showed utter conviction in her words. She was blossoming into a true leader, he marvelled.

Daphne gave McCullum a small smile. "I have with me one of the oldest serving Aurors in the Ministry and one of the strongest Wizards in Magical Britain. I'm sure we can figure something out. What do we have to work with?"

They emptied out their pockets. Between them, they had their wands, Harry's Invisibility Cloak, a silver knife, two vials of Fiendfyre, and three vials of an exploding potion that Harry thought was essentially a portable Confringo, and a dozen or so fireworks.

"That's not a lot to work with," observed McCullum.

"We'll make it work," said Daphne grimly, and quickly, they devised a plan.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daniel Bedlam woke with a start. He was still lying on the couch where his wife had left him. Every muscle in his body ached. The ritual he had used to protect the house was incredibly tiring, and the Villagers were warned not to use it often. He checked his watch. It was 9:15PM and dark outside. Stretching, he wandered over to the kitchen where Sandra was cleaning up for the night.

"Feeling better?" she asked, giving him a peck on the cheek and offering him a cup of tea which he accepted gratefully.

"A little," he answered. "Do we have news from the Council?"

She nodded, gesturing towards a set of papers. Daniel picked them up and started reading them. He let out a low whistle.

"So they burned down the forest, did they?" he said. "I think we need to leave Ynys Mon, Sandra, we can't raise a child in a warzone."

"But they didn't manage to break through the wards," she countered. "We're still safe here."

It was an old habit of Sandra's, that whenever he advocated a course of action, she advocated the opposite. It had frustrated him early in their marriage, but over the years he had come to understand that it was her way of playing devil's advocate. For all he knew, she agreed with him - she just wanted to sound out the available options.

"We're safe for now," he said. "The forest provided a lot of protection and its gone. We still don't know enough about this Celtic Magic or the wards that protect the Village. For all we know, they may fade without the forest there."

"Or they may not," she answered.

"Justin is too aggressive," he said. "This is his fault - he should have listened to Hermione and backed down when he had a chance. Although of course, now he's blaming her. He's always blaming her. The Ministry has resources far greater than ours. The Council told us they would never be able to attack Ynys Mon, and yet this was an attack. Look here." He flipped over another paper. "One of the folks saw the attackers. There were at least two of them he saw alive. And another fellow came across a burnt carcass that they don't think is one of ours."

"They could be terrorists, and not from the Ministry," she argued.

"Or they could be from the Ministry," he shot back. "Or even if they are terrorists, they could attack again, and this time manage to get through the wards. Do you want Emily to be home when they come?"

She conceded that she did not.

"Britain is large," continued Daniel, "and Ynys Mon is small. We can lose ourselves in Britain, but we can't lose ourselves on Ynys Mon. Maybe we can go back to the Muggle world, now that we have our GCSE's."

"We won't have a home," said Sandra. "It's not like we can sell this cottage ... the Council gave it to us for free."

"We could go see if your sister will keep us while we get on our feet," he suggested, but Sandra didn't look too pleased at the idea. Her sister was a Muggle and had never gotten over her jealousy of Sandra for having magic. For Sandra, going to her sister and begging for help would be like admitting defeat. Daniel sighed. "Or I could take a Ministry job. One of the low level ones Draco Malfoy opened up to entice people to come back ... maybe my contact can help."

"That job won't last forever," said Sandra. "If the Ministry wins, they'll be back to their old ways."

"It doesn't need to last forever," said Daniel grimly. "It just needs to last long enough for us to get a house and jobs in the Muggle world."

Sandra sighed and looked out the kitchen window. They had a small backyard in which Daniel had installed a small swing for Emily. It was swaying loosely in the breeze outside.

"Very well then," she said at last, with a troubled look on her face. "We'll go back to mainland Britain."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Daphne knew the Village square was somewhere in the center of the Village, but she didn't know exactly where. When she had followed Turpin to meet the Council, Turpin had taken the backroads and alleyways, in order to avoid having Daphne be recognized. Now, she hoped she could remember the way there.

She was under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Harry was following her, and she felt the gentle tingle of his magic as it stayed connected to hers - a rudimentary tracking charm that worked on raw magic and would fail if she got too far. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him skulking behind her, walking quickly and carefully, staying in the shadows. They had decided that she should be under the Invisibility Cloak, since he was the only one who could use any kind of magic on Ynys Mon. Her fingers brushed over the vials of Exploding Potion and Fiendfyre in her pocket.

Their plan was amazingly brash. Daphne felt certain she was part Gryffindor, for her to have agreed to this. McCullum had split off from them, intent on finding some Muggleborns he knew and enlisting their help.

"How do you intend to convince them?" Daphne had asked him before he left. He had given her a gruff smile and a wink, and told her it was better for her to not know. A few months ago, she might have been offended by his lack of answer, but she knew now that he was watching out for her - making sure she had plausible deniability just in case. She sighed. Her role as Department Head had made her more and more of a politician.

They reached the edge of the village. The streets and narrow alleys were deserted - some kind of alarm must have sounded, sending people to their houses. She wondered how the Council communicated with the villagers - she knew they didn't have Owl Post here. She stayed in the center of the street, avoiding getting close to the houses, in case she set off any alarms. Behind her, Harry did the opposite, staying close to shadows and walls. She let him - she knew he was better at sensing the ambient magic than she was. The Mediaeval-style narrow streets were their allies here, with little to no moonlight lighting them. Every once in a while, Harry ducked under a window to avoid casting a shadow on the street.

The alleyways seemed familiar at first, but very quickly she lost track of where she was. The walls closed in on her and she sped up. Behind her, Harry's footsteps became faster. The streets became narrower and narrower, and for one wild moment, someone flung the door open and looked outside suspiciously. She froze, and behind her Harry melted into the shadows. The man sniffed the air outside and surveyed the street. It was lit eerily in the light coming from his house. The light was so bright that Daphne could see only his silhouette. At last, long last, the man turned around and closed the door behind him. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and began to walk again.

She hadn't taken more than a few steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around with her potion vial in hand ... only to see that it was Harry. He had his finger to his lips. He took a few steps ahead of her and turned around, beckoning for her to follow him. She raised her eyebrow, not that he could see her, and began to follow him. Could he know where he was going?

He led them through several small streets and alleyways, until at last they emerged in what passed for a major thoroughfare in Ynys Mon. Daphne had certainly never seen this road before, but Harry was walking with a purposeful stride, so she followed him without hesitation. He was staying close to the walls still. This street was lit, unlike the smaller alleyways, so he made an extra effort to stay in the sharp shadows generated by the streetlamps.

The road they were on opened up into the Village Square. The altar - Daphne remembered it well - shone in the night with an unethereal beauty, and she couldn't help but stare at it. She was filled with an immense longing, wanting dearly to touch it. All else seemed to fade. She took a few tentative steps towards it and almost took off her Invisibility Cloak, when suddenly, Harry stepped between it and her and the pull faded. He groped in the air blindly until he grabbed her arm and she touched his foreram to indicate that she was okay and in control. She didn't look at the altar again.

"Go hide," he whispered, and she hurried to the edge of the square, peering from behind a tree that grew outside a shop that had been boarded up.

Harry stood near the center of the square, not far from the altar, and faced the Inn where the Council was held. He pulled out his silver knife and cut his palm open again. He held his hand out to let the blood drop on the floor, when suddenly it was jerked away. Daphne saw him start as it attached itself to the altar, and his eyes closed. The altar glowed brightly, lighting up the entire square. Daphne ducked, waiting for someone to notice the light and come out, but no one did.

He drew his hand away and the light faded. When he opened his eyes, even from the distance, Daphne could see them glowing an eerie, incandescent green. The night was still and not a leaf moved in the tree she was hiding behind, but Harry's hair moved as if a steady breeze was blowing. The very air around him seemed to crackle with energy.

He raised his wand in the air and pointed it upwards, never taking his eyes off the Inn, and BOOM! The loud blast almost deafened Daphne, and the windows in the shop behind her rattled precariously. Cries of alarm came from the various shops and houses around them, and the door of the Inn flung open. The Village Square lit up and a company of three wizards marched outside. One of them stood a step ahead of the other two. It was clear that he was their leader.

"Potter," he hissed. Harry was wearing no disguise and clearly recognizable in the bright light. "How did you get in the village? Did Granger let you in? We saw that she fled, the traitorous ..."

He wasn't able to finish his sentence. Harry raised his wand and the man was picked up into the air. He screamed, shouting obscenities, kicking helplessly in the air. His companions took a step back, fear evident on their faces. Harry flicked his wand and the man flew backwards into the inn. A dull thud emanated from within, and Daphne had the feeling that the man would have trouble getting up again.

Harry addressed the other two men. "Go get your Council out here, right now," he said, "if they don't want their precious village burning to the ground."

The men fled inside as if Dementors were after them. Daphne was impressed by Harry's performance. He would have made a good Dark Lord, she thought.

The Council came out - or what remained of it. Daphne recognized a few faces - Mrs Klein, Count Conner's housekeeper was there, and so were another two men whom she remembered by face but not by name. Finch-Fletchley was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?" asked Harry, his voice laced with threat.

"Relax, Potter."

The voice came from Harry's side and Harry whirled to meet it. It was Finch-Fletchley.

"I'm surprised you made it in," he continued. His voice sounded pleasant, but he was no Slytherin. Hatred and derision lined his face. "But then the rules never applied to you, did they Potter? Pity you weren't one of us. You could have been, you know, but I saw through you. You're one of them, you always have been. You betrayed us."

How Harry betrayed them when he was never even part of them, Daphne didn't know. Justin walked into the light of the square slowly, deliberately. He was putting on a show, she realized, for his followers. Besides the council members, a few others had began to line the square. Faces peered through the windows and shops that surrounded the square, and a small crowd was beginning to gather.

"How dare you," continued Finch-Fletchley. His voice carried through the square, echoing slightly. "How dare you betray our hospitality? How dare you show your face here again? How ..."

"Enough ..." thundered Harry, his eyes flashing. Finch-Fletchley shut up. He seemed to realize only then that Harry was wielding magic from the Island, and he took a step back in shock.

"Granger," hissed Finch-Fletchley. "That stupid bint, she ..."

And then he could speak no more. He rose several feet in the air and clutched at his throat, pulling desperately at an imaginary something that wasn't there. Harry was choking him, Daphne realized. He held him for a few seconds before dropping him. Finch-Fletchley fell to the floor, panting.

"It's over," hissed Harry. Finch-Fletchley stood up, massaging his neck. Harry pointed his wand at him, again. "It was over when you threatened to blow up the Hogwarts Express." The crowd tittered. "You threatened children, Justin. You are under arrest, in the name of the Ministry of Magic, acting under the command of Her Highness, Queen Elizabeth of Britain."

Justin let out a peal of laughter.

"You're going to arrest me, eh?" he said, not bothering to hide the amusement on his face. "You and what army, Potter?" He gestured at the three dozen or so individuals who had gathered around the square. "This is my army."

Not everyone in the crowd seemed to be keen to be part of Justin's army, Daphne observed. Several took a step back, but others still took a few steps forward. There were enough that she thought Harry might be overpowered, even with the magic he had imbibed from the Island.

Harry let out a smirk. "I don't need an army," he said. "All I need is a few wizards and Fiendfyre."

Soft gasps emanated from the crowd.

"Oh yes," he said softly. "It's not so fun when the other side can use magic too, is it? Your protections are useless, our Aurors can come back on the Island. This is your last chance, come quietly, or this Village will burn."

He pointed his wand upwards, and a firework shot out of it. It was a bright, golden colour, the colour of the altar Harry was standing next to. It shot up in the air and exploded in a shower of golden sparks.

Daphne held her breath. She hoped McCullum had had enough time, that he would come through. Finch-Fletchley looked unimpressed.

"Is that all?" he asked. "I expected Granger to have taught you more than that."

And then they came. Answering fireworks, one after the other. Some blue, some green, some red. There were more than a dozen, all going up in the air near simultaneously, lighting the sky on fire. Finch-Fletchley's face contorted.

"Your island is taken, Justin," said Harry coolly. "It's over."

Here was the bluff. Would he call the bluff, Daphne wondered. Her heart thudded in her chest as she gripped the vial of Fiendfyre she had, just in case.

"Call your dogs off, Potter," said Finch-Fletchley. He stepped into the middle of the square, facing Harry. "Call them off, if you value your life."

He raised his hand, but Harry pointed his wand upwards.

"Don't you dare," said Harry. "All I need to do is fire a silver firework, and this village will be ablaze within ten seconds."

They stared at each other. Justin's hand was outstretched, palm facing Harry, and Harry's wand was pointed at the sky. Tense seconds passed. To Daphne, it felt like an eternity.

"Very well then," said Justin, lowering his hand. "I'll make you a deal that you'll like. Let's finish this, mano a mano, wizard to wizard. We'll duel - if you beat me, Ynys Mon will surrender."

"Fine," said Harry.

"But," continued Finch-Fletchley, "if I win, you'll call of your dogs. You'll submit to my judgement, and," he smiled viciously, "you'll ensure Granger submits to my judgement as well."

Harry's wand shook. Daphne's breath hitched. This wasn't an outcome they had anticipated. They had hoped Finch-Fletchley would be pressured by the rest of the Council into surrendering. Would Harry be able to beat him? On Britain, she had no doubts that Harry was much stronger than Finch-Fletchley. Here on Ynys Mon though, Finch-Fletchley might actually have the advantage. Why else would he suggest the duel?

"Well Potter?" he asked. "I'm waiting."

Harry lowered his wand.

"All right then," he said, his voice echoing through the square. "Let's duel."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

**AN: **Thanks for the reviews, guys! It's really good to see that people are reading this still. The duel to decide the fate of Ynys Mon is up next! Who are you rooting for?


	26. Stun Them All

Story: The Uprising

**Summary: **All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.

**Chapter 2****6****:** "Stun Them All"

With the announcement that the Ministry had been unable to enter the wards of Ynys Mon, Daniel had relaxed considerably. The wards around their cottage would last a full day, and the last thing he expected was for them to be triggered, so he was shocked when a surge of magical energy went through the cottage, warning him that the Perimeter Ward had been triggered.

He and Sandra both shot up in alarm from their bed and looked at each other.

"What was that?" Sandra asked.

Daniel answered cautiously, "I don't know. Maybe the neighbour's kid again?"

"At this hour?" asked Sandra dubiously. "Especially after an attack? No one should be outside right now."

She was right.

"I'll go check," he sighed, getting out of bed and putting on his slippers.

"Be careful," Sandra called after him. "Stay inside the wards."

He padded downstairs and walked up to his front door, feeling for his wand in his pocket. It was pretty useless here on Ynys Mon, but he still liked the comfort of having it on him. It was pitch dark outside - only the main thoroughfares were lit, and their cottage was on a side street. He would have to go outside.

He snapped his fingers and felt magical energy drain out of him, forming a glowing white ball above his hand. It pulsed, as if it were made of pure energy, but he could put his hand through it and feel nothing. It was made of pure light and didn't let off any heat.

He opened the door and stepped outside. Almost immediately, he was able to make out a figure lying prone on his front yard. He rushed towards it, making sure to stay within the wards, and turned the body over. It was a middle-aged man, ruddy-haired with specks of grey on his sideburns and beard. Daniel checked for a pulse - it was there. The wards had merely knocked the man unconscious.

If Sandra were there, she would have yelled at him. She would have told him to leave the man outside and call the Council. Later Daniel would say that he didn't know what possessed him to do otherwise. In that moment though, he touched the man's body and willed it to rise. It did so, draining at his magic once again. The man's body followed him inside, and he laid it on his couch.

With another touch to the forehead, the man was revived. Daniel stood over him, hand outstretched and palm facing him. The man spluttered and sat up.

"No funny business," said Daniel quietly. "Who are you and why are you here? I don't recognize you."

The man held his hands up in surrender.

"Relax mate. Where am I?" he asked, looking around, wide-eyed.

"In my house," said Daniel. "You set off my wards."

Understanding dawned on the man's face. "Ah yes, I remember now. Sorry mate, didn't realize I was on your property, I was just walking down the street."

He got up, but Daniel pushed him down with a shove. "Who are you?" he repeated. The man fidgeted.

"Wait," he said suddenly, looking at Daniel closely. "I know you. Your name's Bedlam, right?"

He laughed, as if in relief, and Daniel took a step back. How did the man know his name?

"Daniel?" called Sandra from upstairs. "Who is it?"

"Just a second, honey," he answered, and then in a lower voice, he hissed at the man, "how do you know my name?"

The man stood up again and held out his hand, "Name's McCullum. You might remember me as Tiberius?"

Daniel stared at McCullum in shock. Tiberius was the name the hooded man who had gotten Elizabeth into Hogwarts had given him.

"How's your daughter?" asked McCullum, looking around. "I hope I didn't frighten her. Is she set for Hogwarts?"

Daniel stuttered. He didn't know what to say. He didn't expect to see Tiberius again, and definitely not unhooded.

"What are you doing here?" asked Daniel when he finally found his voice.

"I'm a Ministry Auror," answered McCullum. "Part of the er ... invasion force that got through the wards. Lovely home you got here by the way ..."

"The Council said no one got through the wards," said Daniel.

"Oh good," McCullum said. He sounded pleased with himself. "We don't want them to see us coming, you know. Say, tell you what, I could really use a hand ... you know how to use magic around this place, right?"

"I'm not going to just ..."

"Sure you are," said McCullum, shooting him a piercing look. "Let me tell you why - your daughter's life is in danger."

"How dare you threaten ..." began Daniel.

"Not from me, you bozo," cut in McCullum. "I'm an Auror, I'm not going to go around hurting little kids. She's in danger from your government - from the Council. They're planning to blow up the Hogwarts Express, did you know? No, I bet you didn't. I bet Justin doesn't talk about his plans that widely, eh? But we heard about it, we got the news. That's why the Ministry attacked today. It was a preemptive strike. We want to make sure the kids are safe tomorrow - including your daughter."

Daniel did what must have been an excellent impression of a fish.

"We're not the bad guys here," said McCullum softly. "I'm a Muggleborn, like you. I know it's not great in Britain, but we don't kill kids there."

Daniel swallowed. "What do you need?"

McCullum held out his hand and grinned as Daniel shook it. "We need to set off some fireworks."

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

"Let's do this properly," said Justin. There was a wild smile on his face that unnerved Harry. "You remember that duelling club we had in second year, Potter? When you set that snake on me? Let's do it the way Snape and Lockhart taught us. George, would you be so kind as to put up a Shielding Ward for us?"

A man Harry remembered as being from the Council stepped forward and touched the altar. Immediately, a Shielding Ward flared into existence, surrounding most of the area of the village square and leaving only Harry, Justin and George inside. George stumbled, and then staggered back to the edge of the square where some of his friends helped him sit down. Spells were expensive on Ynys Mon, Harry observed.

"Come Potter," Justin said, standing over the altar. "Let's agree to our terms."

Harry edged slowly towards the altar. Justin had his right hand placed on it, and after a moment's hesitation, Harry did the same.

"Do you agree, Potter, to respect the result of our duel and stand by the terms we agreed on?"

"I do," said Harry quietly.

"And I do as well," said Justin, and the altar flared with a blinding magical energy that made Harry stagger backwards. It took all his effort to keep his hand pinned on the altar. When the light faded, he and Justin stepped back, and Harry saw that Justin seemed imbibed with the same magical energy Harry could feel coursing through his veins. Ynys Mon had made them equals.

They stepped into position, each facing the other. Doubt raced through Harry's mind - was he right to have promised what he promised? Especially on Hermione's behalf, without consulting her?

"Count us down, will you George?" called Justin.

George got up shakily. Harry sent out tendrils of his magic, reaching out to the land beneath him. Ynys Mon responded to him playfully, whispering to him in words he didn't understand, and he felt the island's strength reinforce his.

"Three, two, one, begin!"

Justin smirked and dashed his palm on the ground. The Magic of Ynys Mon stopped being playful and screeched, full of warning. Harry jumped and rolled out of the way. He was glad he did, for a sinkhole opened up where he had been standing. Justin's face contorted in anger. Before he could do anything, Harry fired off three stunners that Justin had to dive to avoid.

"How are you using British magic?" raged Justin.

Harry didn't answer. The Magic of Ynys Mon continued to sing to him, and he had no time to wonder about why it responded to him the way it did. He fired off another stunner that should've caught Justin, but Justin sent up an earthen wall in the nick of time to defend himself. The spell impacted the wall harmlessly and dissipated away.

The wall broke into two massive boulders that hurled themselves at Harry.

"Confringo!" shouted Harry, and one of the boulders blew up, showering him with debris as he ducked to avoid the other.

Another boulder followed, and then another, forcing Harry to duck under one and dodge the other. He had to use another Confringo on the third, and he suddenly felt tired after the spell's use. It drained his magical energy faster than the Island could replenish it, he realized.

He shot another barrage of stunners, forcing Justin to put up another shield, and the hail of boulders stopped, allowing him to catch his breath. He was panting heavily, his breath coming in deep gasps. An idea struck him, and while Justin was still hidden behind his physical shield, he called on the Island to hide him. He felt its magic wash over him, and gasps from the crowd told him it might have worked.

Justin's shield came down and he prepared to hurl another boulder, but then stopped when Harry was no where to be seen. Harry started edging slowly towards Justin.

"Where are you, Potter!" roared Justin heavily. "Where did he go?" he demanded, turning to look at the crowd. Harry took advantage of his distraction and shot a stunner Justin must have sensed it coming because he darted to the side, whirling around to smack the ground.

Again, the magic warned Harry, and he jumped, dancing around as Justin opened up sinkhole after sinkhole near where Harry was standing. Realization dawned slowly on Harry. Ynys Mon was helping Justin the same way it was helping him. But why?

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

As the fireworks blazed in the air in response to Harry's, Daniel couldn't help but feel exhilarated. He had been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, always one to follow the rules and toe the line. This was an exercise in daring and adventure that was beyond anything he had experienced.

"Good job," said McCullum to him as they gazed up at the showers of sparks filling the sky. "I thought maybe I could set off two or three one after the other, but setting off a full dozen? And all together? Pretty impressive."

"Well, I've been here a while," said Daniel modestly. "I do have some ability with the Magic of the Island."

He spoke almost reverently of the magic, and McCullum must have picked up on it, because he asked, "Is it that different from British Magic?"

"Oh it is," nodded Daniel emphatically. "Once you learn to feel it, once you realize you're communicating with an almost sentient being, it's hard to go back to using British magic. British magic, it's self-contained. Except for maybe Potions and Runes, you use your own magic, and that's it. That's why you need to use wands to amplify the magic within you cores. It's weaker magic, but it's more sustainable. You can do a lot of it without feeling even slightly tired. Ynys Mon magic, it takes a lot out of you, but it's much much more powerful - it's not just your magic, you see, it's your magic and that of the environment."

"But you have to do some kind of sacrifice to get the environment to assist you?" asked McCullum.

"Precisely," said Daniel. "It's a transaction with the environment, not just with your own magic. But like I said, once you feel it, it's hard to go back. It's almost ... intoxicating. And it's beautiful. If not for this war, I wouldn't leave it. I would stay here, but I have to think of my daughter ..."

"Understandable," soothed McCullum. "I've a niece you know; she's Muggle, but she's the world to me. Couldn't imagine bringing her out here, not with constant attacks and conflict. War isn't good. It's never good, not for anyone, and especially not for the kids."

"Amen to that," said Daniel. He thought back to his wife. Sandra wasn't happy that he was insisting on helping the old Auror, but he told her he had to do it, for Elizabeth. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for his beloved daughter, and his wife knew when she wouldn't win an argument.

"Is there a way to get off the island?" asked McCullum suddenly.

Daniel looked at him strangely. "Why? You don't think Potter's bluff will work?"

"It's a shot in the dark," admitted McCullum. "If things get out of hand, I would like to be able to leave. Preferably with them."

"Everyone on the Island gets an emergency portkey," said Daniel, tapping his chin as he thought. "But they're usually small items ... like a pencil or a badge or a small stone. It's something you can keep in your pocket at all times. Sandra and I both have one each - I could give you mine, but I'd have to explain how I lost it ..."

"You're leaving the Island anyway," pointed out McCullum. "I don't want to force you, but ..."

"No you're right," said Daniel with a sigh. He pulled out a pencil from his pocket and handed it to McCullum. "We'll use Sandra's portkey to leave. This should take you to a Muggle safehouse somewhere in Britain, but I assume once you're off the Island, you can apparate to London."

McCullum accepted the pencil gratefully. "Thanks, Bedlam," he said. "I really appreciate it. I know this is a shot in the dark, but if it works, you know, you'll be a hero."

Daniel gave him a tired smile. "I just want the world to be safe for my daughter," he said. "In the end that's what most of the people here wanted, a safe place to raise their kids. Pity it got out of hand."

"Pity indeed," said McCullum. "I say, what's that?"

He was pointing in the distance, close to where Potter's firework had come from. A giant dome was shimmering in the sky.

Daniel shrugged. "Looks like Potter's getting a reaction. I don't know what that is, though."

"Let's see if we need to go bail them out," said McCullum with a grunt.

They hurried towards the dome. Once or twice, McCullum almost took a wrong turn, but Daniel guided him aright as they zigzagged through the narrow streets towards the dome. The narrower streets gave way to larger streets, and the dome appeared bigger and bigger, right until they reached the Village Square.

"Holy cow," muttered Daniel, staring in wide eyes as the shield surrounding Potter and Justin as they duelled inside.

"I guess the bluff worked," said McCullum. "They managed to force a duel."

"It did," a disembodied voice near them said, making Daniel nearly jump out of his skin. "Potter offered himself and Granger as stakes against the surrender of Ynys Mon. Who's your friend?"

McCullum let out a low whistle.

"High stakes for him," he said, then he gestured Daniel forward. "Daniel Bedlam. Muggleborn, Ynys Mon resident, he helped with the fireworks, and has a portkey for us in case things go south."

"Thank you, Mr Bedlam," said the voice politely. "Your assistance is appreciated."

"You're welcome," murmured Daniel. He figured, by now, that McCullum had an invisible friend somewhere, and thought it prudent not to ask questions, choosing instead to observe the Village Square. It looked nothing like how Daniel remembered it - the ground had deep gashes in it near where Justin stood, and the other side was littered with rocks and boulders. In the midst of it all, the altar stood, glowing a brighter golden than Daniel had ever seen it glow. He let out a low whistle.

"What is it?" asked McCullum.

"Check out the altar," said Daniel. "It's absorbing all of that excess magic and glowing."

"From the duel, you mean?" asked the disembodied voice.

Daniel shifted uncomfortably, not sure where to look when addressing the voice. Finally deciding to keep looking at the duel, where Justin was hurling another boulder at Potter, he answered, "Yes. There's excess magic here, much like Hogwarts, and the altar siphons off that excess magic to strengthen the wards. That's why it's next to impossible for the Ministry to break through the wards."

The two Aurors said nothing, though Daniel saw McCullum raise an eyebrow in the general direction of where the voice was coming from.

"So the altar," began the voice cautiously, "it's some kind of focusing agent? Like a wardstone?"

Daniel shrugged. "I don't know the magic behind it."

They fell again into silence, watching the duel unfold. Daniel wondered what the Aurors had in mind. Frankly, he didn't know how they were going to get to Potter, and have the three of them portkey away without someone realizing what was going on. He wondered if he should slip away in the night and use Sandra's portkey to get to the mainland, and hopefully never see these Aurors again. He had a feeling though, that it was too late, and he was already too deep in the middle of things. There was nothing to do, but see it through. For Elizabeth's sake, he told himself. He had to do it for Elizabeth's sake. Taking a deep breath, he pushed these thoughts from his mind and resumed watching the duel

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Justin was beginning to pant as he threw another boulder at Harry. Harry himself was feeling tired and his back was beginning to ache. This was by far the most physically strenuous duel he had been in - Voldemort and his Death-Eaters had tended to stand in one place and just shoot spells, but Justin kept moving and he kept you moving.

The magic he was using was largely physical too. Large chunks of rock from the ground being heaved at Harry, sinkholes appearing under him, it was all magic that forced him to duck and jump and avoid. He hadn't cast a single _protego_ that duel. Silently, he thanked Merlin for the physical regimen Daphne had put him on.

He threw another volley of stunners at Justin, followed by a few Leg-Lockers, but Justin just brought up another boulder and blocked them all. Harry almost rolled his eyes as he dove to the right to avoid that boulder. This was getting repetitive.

And then something happened. Justin slipped, and a Cutter that Harry had aimed at Justin cut through his forearm, exposing blood and bone. Justin cried out in pain as blood gushed from his arm, spurting on the ground. Harry shot another stunner at Justin, who moved out of the way with effort. He stumbled, awkwardly, towards the altar, and by the time Harry realized what was going on, it was too late.

Justin put his bleeding arm on the altar, which glowed even brighter as it absorbed the blood and paid Justin back for his sacrifice with Magic. Harry's eyes widened. Desperately, he shot hex after hex, curse after curse at Justin, but each of them was absorbed by a blue shield that appeared between him and Justin. The Island, he realized, didn't want him beating Justin. Justin was feeding its magic.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

The words tasted like poison as they left his mouth. Never, not even against Voldemort had he used that curse. Shocked gasps went through the crowd, but he knew it was the only curse that could break through the shield.

The blinding green curse fled from Harry's wand and towards Justin, who stared at it with wide eyes. And then, with a loud clang, it hit the shield and fizzled away.

Cheers reverberated from the crowd, and Harry staggered back. Never, not once, except for when he himself had defeated Voldemort as a baby, had the killing curse failed. And now, here on Ynys Mon, that one instance had become two. Some part of his brain registered the fact that he himself had resisted the curse due to his mother's sacrifice. Was that a product of some Celtic Magic, he wondered. Had his mother discovered some long forgotten ritual or spell?

Justin stepped away from the altar. His arm, Harry noticed, was healed and he looked refreshed, completely refreshed. He was suddenly incredibly aware of his own ragged breath, coming in gasps.

He knew it was coming before it came - he didn't know if it was intuition, or if the island telling him to expect it - and so he threw up the strongest shield he knew. Justin raised his arm, and a visible stream of magic shot out of his hand and hit Harry's shield so hard, he was forced to take several steps back.

Justin shot him a vicious smile, not letting up his attack in the slightest. Harry could feel his own remaining magical reserves draining slowly, beginning to diminish. On the other side, Justin still looked fresh, and he knew, then, that this was a battle he couldn't win.

****** TU TU TU TU TU TU ******

Harry was losing. Daphne knew she couldn't let Harry lose ... there was too much at stake. Whatever had happened to heal Justin had lost Harry the upper hand and unless he chopped off a limb, there was little chance that Ynys Mon would help him.

"Should we do something?" asked McCullum in a low voice. Worry lined his face. Bedlam, too, was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

She stared at the scarred Village Square weighing her options.

"Bedlam," she said, "what can you tell me about this shield that's surrounding the square? Is it the same shield spell used in international duelling tournaments?"

Bedlam shrugged. "Close enough," he said. "It'll keep most spells inside the shield from harming spectators, and it'll prevent people from interfering from the outside."

"What about physical objects?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted.

Harry was down on one knee now, fighting to keep the shield up. She didn't have much time. In international duelling tournaments, she knew organizers typically put up two shields - one to keep out spellfire, and one to keep out any physical objects being hurled by the audience. There was only one shield here. Take a deep breath, she closed her eyes and stepped through the shield.

It worked. She went through. She took aim and hurled her vial of Exploding Potion, not at Justin, but at the altar in the middle of the Village Square. The loud explosion caused Finch-Fletchley - who was closer to the altar - to falter and stumble forward a few steps. Harry took advantage of the break in onslaught to drop his shield and catch his breath as he scrambled several feet away. The altar, though, remained pristine, showing only the stains of Finch-Fletchley's blood which were beginning to fade.

"Who's there?" bellowed Finch-Fletchley. "Potter, you cheat, you had someone on the inside all along, didn't you? Insurance, just in case you were going to lose? I call this duel forfeit, I claim your life as mine!"

And he shot his hand out and aimed it at Daphne, forcing her to jump to avoid the stream of magic. As she did so, she slipped, tripping on her Invisibility Cloak, and she was exposed, there for the whole crowd to see.

Cries of "Boo!" emanated from the crowd. They all clearly thought Harry had cheated.

"Well well," said Finch-Fletchley. "What do we have here? A dirty, Pureblooded Slytherin, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement herself! Why, Potter, you do love consorting with the enemy!"

Daphne knew she only had one shot. She clutched her vial of Fiendfyre even as Justin raised his hand. Harry shot several hexes and curses at him, but Justin used his other hand to raise a shield to block them. Harry's magic was so spent, he could do little to overcome the shield.

She threw the vial, following it with her eyes. Finch-Fletchley too followed it, surprise showing in his eyes when he realized it wasn't aimed at him, and then they widened as he realized where the vial was headed.

It descended on the altar, breaking on impact, and a large inferno emerged. With little fuel around it to sustain the fire, it burned hotly and only for several seconds. She could feel the heat even from where she stood. Finch-Fletchley was much closer to the altar and he had to cover his face to protect it.

Then they heard a loud crack and the very earth under them rumbled in response. The shield that surrounded the three of them shimmered and then flickered out of existence. The shield Finch-Fletchley had pointed towards Harry disappeared, the flames surrounding the altar died away, and Daphne saw that it had been reduced to a lump of molten metal.

"Fiendfyre," whispered Daphne, more to herself than to anyone else. "Cursed fire."

FInch-Fletchley shot out his left arm at Harry once and then a second time. Nothing happened. Then he tried again with his right arm, the one that had been pointed with Daphne. Nothing happened. His magic wasn't working, she realized.

"Locomotor Mortis!"

The spell raced from Harry's wand, hitting Finch-Fletchley in the chest. His legs snapped together as the Leg-Locker took hold.

He grasped at his pockets, but came up empty. He didn't have his wand on him.

"Seize them!" he roared. Several in the crowd stepped back, but several still stepped forward, wands in hand.

"The wards, Daphne," said Harry suddenly.

"Huh?" she asked, not understanding what he meant.

"The wards are down."

Understanding flooded through her. She eyed Finch-Fletchley uncertainly, and then the advancing crowd.

"If we leave, he might escape," she whispered. And then out loud, "McCullum, get backup."

McCullum exchanged a quick word with his friend and then disappeared. No one in the crowd even noticed - Finch-Fletchley was screaming at them hysterically, demanding they attack the pair.

The first stunner came, and Harry batted it away.

"Protego!" cried Daphne.

Warmth rushed from her magical core and through her arm as a shield flared into existence, protecting her and Harry. She shivered in delight, feeling not unlike she had when she had cast her first spell with her father's wand. It was no wonder Marcus had been willing to sacrifice himself - she had no idea how anyone could live without magic.

Her shield caught the second stunner, and then Harry reinforced it, just in time for a barrage of hexes and curses. Their shield barely held - Daphne didn't think they could survive more than a couple of more spells, and she opened her mouth to tell Harry to apparate away when -

Pop, pop, pop. Two dozen Aurors apparated to the square, wands out. The crowd faltered. Even Finch-Fletchley shut up his ceaseless ramblings.

Daphne smirked. "Stun them all," she said coldly.

Jets of red light hit the villagers attacking them, as the Aurors took them down with military efficiency. A handful were quick enough to realize they could apparate away, but most of them were downed within seconds. A handful tried to fight back, but they were no match for trained Aurors. Daphne herself took great pleasure in stunning Justin herself.

"Anti-apparation, anti-portkey wards," she said. "Now."

Trevor, the Wardmaster's assistant who had helped them get into the island stepped forward. Daphne was glad to see that he and survived. Moments later, the wards went up, and she cast a Sonorus on herself.

"Citizens of Ynys Mon," she said, her voice loud to her own ears as it carried all over the village. "Your Village is now under the control of the Ministry of Magic of Britain. Your Magic has been rendered ineffective. Your Council has been defeated. You will all now make your way to the Village Square, where you will submit to Ministry Aurors. If you comply, you will have clemency. If you don't, if you try and fight, you will face a long sentence in Azkaban. If you try and run, we will catch you, and you will face a long sentence in Azkaban. You have 15 minutes to comply. For your own sakes, for your families' sakes, make your way to the Village Square."

They came, stragglers at first, in ones and twos, and then in groups of threes and fours, and then in larger crowds. They came, quietly surrendered their wands, and allowed the Aurors to handcuff them and escort them to the Ministry. They would be held overnight - Daphne had prepared the cells in advance, against the off chance that they actually succeeded - and then most of them would be let go.

She took a deep breath and sat down in a corner of the square, allowing McCullum and Madam Bones to take over.

"I can't believe that worked," she said to Harry, who came and sat with her.

He grinned at her. "You were the only one who thought it would work," he said. "No one else did. Just you."

It had worked, she reflected as she surveyed the Village Square. Men, women and children, Muggleborns of all kinds were standing in line, waiting to be processed. They came ashen-faced, in their nightgowns and in their casual Muggle clothes. There were couples, holding each other close, groups of friends, families with children. All of them had terror and resignation in their eyes, some looked as if their dreams had been shattered. Others still refused to look up at all.

She would be famous now, she knew. Her name would carry clout in the halls of the Ministry, and she decided, then, that she would use that clout to protect these people. There had to be a way to educate them, to integrate them into Wizarding Britain without oppressing them so much that fanatics like Finch-Fletchley could rise and take control. As Daphne leaned against Harry and closed her eyes to rest, she resolved she would find a way.

****** FINISHED ******

**AN: **

The End! I want your imagination to tell you how things would've played out. In my mind, with Harry, Malfoy and Daphne wielding much political clout, the Ministry will be forced to appeal to disaffected Muggleborns. But tell me what you think! What do you think will happen? I am considering writing an epilogue later to describe some kind of aftermath, but for all intents and purposes, the story is complete.


End file.
